


Collapse Amongst the Dying Stars

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the final battle nothing is quite as Harry expected.  Death Eaters remain unaccounted for, Malfoy is in prison and there is something rotten in Azkaban.  Banned from assisting the Aurors, Harry keeps himself busy with regular visits to Malfoy and works to bring light to the darkness of 12 Grimmauld Place.  As he does all he can to make things better, Harry’s mind fills with strange dreams and an adversary sets in motion a plan intended to tear Harry’s world apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collapse Amongst the Dying Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DracoTops_Harry 2013 fest on Livejournal

“They’ve found him?” Harry opened the door to Ron who was flushed, his face streaked with mud and his wand gripped tightly in his fist. 

“No such luck. It was a dead end.” 

“Who does that leave unaccounted for?” 

“Yaxley, Goyle and Rookwood.” 

“The Carrows?” 

“In custody, thank fuck. Slippery bastards.” Ron glared and then ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t suppose I could grab a quick shower? I’ll take a beer too, if you have any.” 

“Of course.” Harry grinned and stepped to one side, letting Ron through and gesturing upstairs. “You know the way.” 

“Yeah, ‘course I do.” Ron grinned back and moved to the stairs before he turned to look seriously at Harry. “You should speak to Kingsley about getting the wards strengthened on this place, mate. While there’s Death Eaters unaccounted for it’s not safe for you here. You know they won’t care that You Know Who isn’t around anymore – remember what happened to the Longbottoms.” 

“I know.” Harry pulled a face because the last thing he wanted to do was speak to Kingsley. 

“I mean it – don’t be a prat just because he’s trying to give you a break from fighting.” 

“I won’t – I’ll speak to him tomorrow.” Harry gave Ron a grin and waved him off. “Now bugger off, you’re getting mud all over the place. 

“Right you are.” With a mock salute, Ron took the stairs two at a time and disappeared out of sight. 

Harry busied himself tidying up the living room a little and grabbed a couple of beers as he waited for Ron to return. He felt he had been doing nothing but tidying lately and listening to the cuckoo clock in the hallway tick away the minutes, hours and days. He had spent his free time trying to make the miserable old Black property into somewhere with a little light, which was half-way habitable. Sleeping under this many cobwebs made him feel like he was living in a large version of his cupboard under the stairs. He understood something of how Sirius had felt during the war, trapped in the gloomy house, surrounded by darkness and memories. The one salvation was the garden area at the back of the house which had been one of the first places Harry had cleared out. He found the physical work of cutting back weeds made him feel more active and he chose to do everything the Muggle way instead of using magic, in order to keep himself occupied. He would sit outside sometimes at night and watch the stars, looking out for the one which burned the brightest of all and thinking about Sirius.

He desperately wanted to help Ron, Kingsley and the others round up the last remaining Death Eaters but everybody seemed to be of the opinion that Harry was too high-risk and too easily identifiable. Kingsley had said having Harry on board might make his Aurors more likely to be targeted by any Death Eaters, although Harry wasn’t sure he agreed. He thought if they were desperate enough, the Death Eaters would attack pretty much anyone they perceived to be a threat without a second thought. 

He had even tried to sneak out with Ron on a couple of occasions. Using a Glamour with the reluctant assistance of Hermione, Harry had become Barnabas Potts, a distant cousin of Ron’s. Shacklebolt had played along for a while, but eventually he had taken Harry to one side and clapped him on the shoulder, suggesting he drop the Glamour and that had been the end of that. Harry had been tempted to go out by himself on occasion, when Ron told him about the trail of clues they had been following, but he knew that nobody would thank him for that and as much as it pained him, he stayed at home. Ron at least gave him some insight into the status of the investigations, and Harry had taken to trying to be as involved as he could from within Grimmauld Place, looking into things which seemed odd and reading up on Dark artefacts which Ron and the others had found. 

It was a lonely way of fighting and it wasn’t one Harry would ever have chosen for himself. He knew that some felt he had done more than enough as it was, and suspected the same people imagined that Harry would be glad of a break from putting himself into dangerous situations. Kingsley had promised him when the dust settled he could begin his Auror training and Harry clung on to the hope that at least there was some end in sight for him, waiting for the Fire Call from Kingsley to tell him he was needed at the Ministry. 

“That’s better. Cheers, mate.” Ron grabbed his beer from the side and flopped down next to Harry with a contented sigh. “You need to buy some new stuff with those Galleons of yours. The room smells like my Great Aunt Mildred’s place.” 

“I know,” Harry laughed. “How’s Hermione?” 

“Good.” Ron flushed a hot red and kept his eyes carefully trained on the wall as he took a sip of his beer. 

“Right.” Harry shook his head at Ron’s blushes. The fact that he and Hermione were love’s young dream must have been the worst kept secret in Wizarding Britain. 

“Did you hear about Malfoy?” Ron looked at Harry after a moment’s silence. 

“Which one?” 

“The more _annoying_ one.” Ron scowled at that. “He was sentenced today.” 

“Bloody hell, why didn’t you say?” Harry sat up in his seat and held his breath. “And?” 

“Most of the serious charges were dropped, which is damned lucky for him. He got six months in Azkaban.” 

“Azkaban?” Harry looked at Ron and shook his head. “ _Fuck._ ” 

“Would’ve been a lot more if you hadn’t appeared as a witness.” Ron looked at Harry with a frown. “I don’t like the git but I don’t want him to go bananas either. He’ll be alright if it’s only six months.” 

“Will he?” Harry didn’t know why he cared, but the idea of Malfoy in Azkaban made his blood run cold. He remembered the things Sirius had told him about the prison and shook his head. “He’s scared of the Forbidden Forest, for fucks sake. He won’t last six minutes, let alone six months.” 

“Yeah. Well no Dementors at least.” Ron shrugged and looked at Harry. “It’s just a normal prison now, Harry – he’ll be fine.” 

“There’s nothing bloody normal about that place. How can there be with everything that went on?” Harry sighed and shook his head with a low growl. “I don’t know why I care so much.” 

“No.” Ron looked at Harry quietly and murmured into his drink. “Neither do I.”

OoooOOoooO

When Harry reached Azkaban, everything felt sharp and cold. The spray from the waves crashing against the rocks covered his skin and he pulled his cloak more firmly around him.

Despite the fact it was early afternoon, the raging storm and wind tugging at Harry as he made his way along the path to the prison made everything feel darker. Even the sky looked dark, an oppressive, gloomy grey, like the evening sky without the light from the moon or the stars to give it any vibrancy. When he finally reached his destination, Harry tucked his wand into his cloak and made his way through the drawbridge, looking for the guard that should have been standing at the entrance to the prison. 

He shivered as he waited at the portcullis opening, looking around. He saw the mounds of earth, which stood raised against the walls of the prison and beyond. Makeshift plain wooden headstones were thrust roughly into the ground and had been left to rot, at the mercy of the elements. The stormy seas had turned the wood of those that had been there the longest black, and their rough edges had disintegrated over time. Harry remembered Remus telling him about the graveyard outside the walls of Azkaban for those prisoners who died in jail, and Harry swallowed as he looked at the dull mounds of earth and dark, unmarked graves. There were no flowers left by careful hands to remember those lost. Few people would come here to mourn their dead. 

Harry felt quite sure the gates should be guarded, but nobody stood watch. He walked inside, past the dank walls of black stone, and walked up tall, slippery steps until he reached an open space where a couple of guards laughed together. One of them turned, startled to see someone intrude on their conversation. 

“Blimey – it’s Harry Potter. Who you here to see then?” 

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” Harry corrected quickly, shivering at the thought of sitting opposite Lucius, suspecting he wouldn’t be thanked for that particular visit. 

“What you want to see him for? He’s the pretty blond Death Eater isn’t he?” The guard sneered at the word ‘pretty’ and Harry frowned at the tone in the guard’s voice, with the sense that something wasn’t quite right. 

“We went to school together. He’s a friend.” Harry looked at the guards head on, as if challenging them to disagree. He wasn’t sure Draco would describe him as a friend, but he didn’t know how else to put it without sounding odd. He still hadn’t given much thought to why he was here in the first place after haranguing Shacklebolt to let him visit. 

“You allowed to be here?” The guard’s eyes narrowed and Harry noticed one was clutching his wand. 

“I can contact the Minister if you’d like?” Harry moved to withdraw his own wand and instead of reacting defensively, the guards seemed to relax at the mention of the Minister. 

“Alright, we’ll get him for you.” One of the guard’s disappeared into the darkness and Harry heard the rattling of cell doors and muffled voices. As the door to the corridor opened, Harry heard a high-pitched scream, which made his blood curdle. It was a female prisoner and it sounded as if she was in excruciating pain; her cries haunted Harry. The guard watched him closely and shrugged, tapping his wand on the table as he talked. 

“Strange sort of place this. Even without the Dementors, it’s like nobody can be happy – the history of the place won’t ever leave these walls.” 

“No.” Harry looked down the dark corridor curiously, the sounds continuing and making him shiver. “It’s just you two here, then? Doesn’t the place need more people on duty?” 

“Oh there’s more of us.” The guard shrugged and didn’t elaborate. “Besides, it’s the fear which keeps people here.” 

“Fear?” 

“Yeah. There’s talk you know. There’s Dark things in this prison. Solitary’s the worst. Even the guards don’t like it there – only go to put a prisoner in and take them out again.” 

“Solitary?” Harry watched the guard, confused. 

“Yeah, where we put the really bad ones.” The guard shivered. “A row of rooms, pitch black and too small to do much. Most go mad within weeks.” 

“That’s barbaric.” Harry frowned at the thought of it, but all thoughts of the way the prisoners were kept were forgotten when he heard the clink of chains and looked up. 

“Potter.” Draco’s eyes widened when he saw Harry, his face twisted into an angry grimace. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Thought he said you were friends.” The other guard shoved Draco forwards and narrowed his eyes at Harry. 

“Friends?” 

“Of a sort.” Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks as the guard pushed Draco again, this time towards a small chair in the sparse visiting area. The guards left them to it, keeping a watchful eye from a distance, and Harry moved to sit opposite Draco. “Alright?” 

“Wonderful, thank you.” Draco let out a derisory snort. He shifted his hands in his lap and the chains clinked, the sound loud in the quiet room. 

Malfoy had always been slim but he looked thinner than usual, his prison clothing hanging off his frame. His face was paler too and his eyes were surrounded by dark shadows. Malfoy pushed up his sleeves and with a frown, Harry saw the skin on his arm was covered with thin, wrinkled scar tissue. 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing.” Malfoy scowled at Harry and pulled his sleeves down again, folding his hands and not meeting Harry’s gaze. 

“Do they treat you alright?” Harry nodded back towards the guards and Malfoy gave Harry a slow, cold smile. 

“Like a prince.” 

“I’ll come back again.” Now that he was here, Harry realised he didn’t exactly have much to talk about with Malfoy. 

Draco looked up, startled. “I don’t want you to come back. I mean it, Potter – it’s not helping anything.” Draco sat back, giving Harry a bitter smile. “You heard about my mother, I assume?” 

“No,” Harry furrowed his brow. “What happened?” 

“Rookwood.” Malfoy nodded back towards the cells and his eyes narrowed. “Our family isn’t too popular with either side at the moment.” 

“They caught Rookwood.” Harry remembered Ron telling him that the previous day and rubbed his forehead. “What’s that got to do with your mum?” 

“It seems he found time to cast an irreversible curse before your friends got to him.” Draco smiled, and the expression was bitter, only his eyes indicating any sort of emotion. “She’s not got long – she’s in St. Mungos at the moment.” 

“I’m sorry.” Harry felt unspeakably sad for Malfoy as he sat there, thin and utterly alone. “It’s not right – they must be able to do something for her?” 

“Apparently not. As the guards took great delight in telling me.” Draco clenched his hands in his lap and cast his eyes downwards. “I’m tired. You should leave.” 

“But I only just got here.” Harry looked at Draco with concern, but Draco wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

They sat in silence while the sound of wretched screams built into a crescendo. 

“I’ll go and see your mum,” Harry said when everything was still. “Make sure she’s alright.” 

“She _isn’t_ alright.” Draco’s voice was tight and he still didn’t look at Harry. “Please just leave it alone.” 

“There must be something I can do.” Harry felt the same useless feeling that had come over him when Kingsley had told him he couldn’t fight anymore. He wanted to grab Rookwood out of his cell and Hex the bastard, or find a potion or spell that could cure Narcissa. He clutched his wand in his hand tightly enough to hurt, feeling angry and frustrated as his seeming inability to do _anything_. “This isn’t right – this isn’t what we fought for. This isn’t the sort of world Remus and Sirius – and my mum and dad – died for.” 

“No,” Draco agreed. “But it takes more than one person to change things – even you must see that, Potter.” 

“Perhaps, but they can bloody well try.” 

“You’re an idiot.” Draco looked at Harry at last and shook his head and for one moment Harry thought there was the hint of a smile playing on Draco’s lips. As quickly as the look had appeared it was gone, and the guards coughed and tapped their watches, suggesting visiting hours were over. 

Harry stood to leave and before he reached the stairs, he took one look back. He could see the guard had gripped Draco’s hair and appeared to be muttering something in his ear. Harry saw the way Malfoy’s shoulders tensed and then together, the guard and Malfoy disappeared into the darkness.

OoooOOoooO

“You went to visit him?” Hermione looked concerned and Ron snorted and rolled his eyes.

“You’re a right prat, Harry – he’s not going to thank you for that.” 

“He didn’t,” Harry agreed. “I’m going to see him again.” 

“What do you hope to achieve?” Hermione looked over at Ron and they shared one of their _looks_ as if they had been talking about Harry behind his back; the thought made him feel a hot flash of anger. 

“I don’t bloody well know. He’s got nobody else. You heard about his mum?” 

“Yeah.” Ron wrinkled his nose. “She’s in St Mungos isn’t she? I hear Rookwood got to her before they took him in. Seems the rest of the Death Eaters didn’t much like the Malfoys’ at the end. Saw them as traitors, by all accounts.” 

“Yep.” Harry sighed and raked a hand through his hair, pulling a face. “They reckon she won’t live to see Malfoy released.” 

“It’s why you’ve got to be careful, Harry,” Hermione urged. “There are still people out there who are capable of doing terrible things and you’re in danger. You must know that.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Harry laughed with little humour. “I’m not allowed to help the Aurors and I’m stuck here in this place every day, doing the dusting for Merlin’s sake. I’m just trying to do what I can to help.” 

“I don’t want to see the ferret lose his mum; nobody deserves that. But why the sudden concern about Malfoy?” Ron looked confused and Harry watched him exchange another look with Hermione. 

“Because his mum saved my life – he did too, in the Manor.” Harry grimaced and shook his head. “He’s a git but he’s not _evil_ \- you know that as well as I do.” 

“We know,” Hermione agreed. She reached out for Harry and gave him a hug. “I know you just want to help, but I’m worried he won’t thank you for it.” 

“You think I’m making it worse?” Harry looked at Ron with confusion and he shrugged. 

“I dunno, Harry. He’s not exactly welcoming you with open arms, you’ve got to admit.” 

“Surely having _someone_ is better than no one at all? Even if it’s someone you hate,” Harry persisted. 

“Perhaps.” Hermione looked doubtful. 

“Alright, alright. One more visit. If he tells me to bugger off after that, I won’t go back.” 

“That’s the spirit, mate.” Ron grinned at Harry and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get this place looking a bit brighter.”

OoooOOoooO

When Harry returned to Azkaban two weeks later, the guard was in his proper place. He smiled at Harry as he entered, tipping his hat.

“Evening, Mister Potter.” 

“Evening.” Harry smiled back and gestured to the stairs. “I’m here to see Malfoy.” 

The guard paled and cleared his throat. “I’m afraid he’s not going to be able to have any visitors.” 

“Why?” Harry narrowed his eyes and the guard averted his gaze. 

“He’s currently indisposed.” 

“What the bloody hell does that mean?” Harry looked at the guard and noticed his eyebrow twitched a little as if he was lying. “Do I need to send a Patronus to the Minister?” 

“No, don’t be daft.” The guard let out a nervous laugh and waved his hand. “I suppose you can see him – shouldn’t do any harm.” 

Harry frowned, confused, but made his way to the stairs nonetheless. By the time he reached the top, the storm had built to a peak and the wind howled around the walls of the prison. The ferocity of the elements and the sound of the sea crashing against the stone walls made the whole place seem darker and more foreboding as Harry tentatively made his way to the visiting area. 

He wasn’t the only one this time; he noticed a couple of Ministry officials who were talking in hushed voices to one of the prisoners. Harry watched them for a moment and assumed they must be family, unless the Ministry was carrying out further investigations. Since Barty Crouch and Sirius, there had been a tightening of security and few were allowed to visit the prison. Kingsley had made an exception for Harry, because of all the people who might try to break Death Eaters out of Azkaban, Harry would hardly be a prime suspect. 

“Malfoy! Visitor.” One of the guards rattled a small cell door far down the black corridor, which had an acrid, metallic sort of scent. 

“Potter.” Malfoy made his way out of the cell to sit opposite Harry, then leaned forward and dipped his voice. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you not to come back.” 

“I know,” Harry shrugged. “I wanted to see if you were alright.” 

“Alright?” Draco sat back and watched Harry, only his eyes betraying his fear. “You think I can’t handle myself?” 

Harry shrugged again because he wasn’t entirely sure Malfoy _could_ handle himself in a place like this. 

“Do they allow you to see your dad?” Harry was curious but suspected he had asked the wrong question as a flicker of emotion crossed Malfoy’s face. 

“Yes, we have afternoon tea at three and in the evenings we play chess and enjoy a glass of Firewhisky together.” Malfoy snorted and then looked down at his hands, which were cuffed together. Harry followed his gaze and noticed Malfoy’s wrists were red and raw, as if he had been struggling against something. “My father is dead, Potter.” Malfoy saw Harry watching him and pulled his sleeves down over his cuffs as best he could. 

“Pardon?” Harry wondered if he had misheard as he looked back up at Malfoy, whose face looked even paler than usual. 

“My father is _dead_.” Malfoy spoke tightly, his gaze flicking to the side to look at the guard who seemed to be monitoring the conversation closely. When Harry looked up, the guard continued his patrol, keeping just within earshot. 

“How the hell did that happen?” Harry rubbed his forehead and noticed again the way Malfoy’s prison clothes hung off his already slender frame. He frowned. “Are you eating?” 

“I tell you my father is dead and you ask if I am _eating_?” Draco looked at Harry with a scathing glance and then turned away to watch the guard again. 

“I’m sorry, really I am. I just don’t understand how it could have happened.” 

Draco shrugged and gave Harry a bitter smile. “Influenza. It’s a serious problem when the cells are damp and we are at the mercy of the elements.” 

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” Harry leaned forward in his seat and kept his voice low. “It just doesn’t, and you bloody well know it. Pomfrey was able to regrow my bones during first year. No matter how serious, flu wouldn’t kill someone if they are treated properly. What about the Mediwizards that work in the prison?” 

“Where do you think we are?” Malfoy hissed. “We’re _Death Eaters_ \- do you think anyone here is going to give two hoots about our well-being?” 

“I do.” Harry looked up, noticed the guard was frowning at them, and leaned back, forcing a laugh. “That’s a good one, Malfoy.” 

Draco looked startled and then pulled his lips into a smile as he realised what Harry was trying to do, adjusting his voice to his usual bored drawl. “I do try.” 

“I’m going to speak to Shacklebolt.” Harry waited until the guard had moved on to watch the Ministry officials, seemingly satisfied that Harry and Draco weren’t talking about anything that be incriminating. 

“Don’t you _dare_.” Draco clenched his hand into a fist and gave Harry a furious look. “It’s alright for you, Potter – you can make your complaints and champion equality from the safety of your bed. I’m the one that has to live here for the next four months.” 

“It might help,” Harry protested, but Draco’s lips set in a tight line. 

“No – trust me, it won’t.”

OoooOOoooO

“Lucius Malfoy’s dead.” Harry stumbled through the Floo at the Burrow and caught Ron and Hermione looking rather flushed as they scrambled upright, adjusting their clothes. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, mate.” Ron gave Harry a half-hearted glare and Hermione laughed softly, her cheeks flushed pink. 

“I’ll come back, shall I?” Harry gestured vaguely towards the Floo and Ron rolled his eyes. 

“No point. Hearing the name Lucius Malfoy hasn’t exactly helped the mood.” 

“Right.” Harry shuffled in place and gave Hermione a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry.” 

“We could have warded the Floo.” Hermione gestured to one of the plump, battered armchairs and gave Ron a look. “Couldn’t we, Ronald?” 

“Sorry.” It was Ron’s turn to look sheepish and he leaned over to give Hermione a chaste kiss on the cheek, murmuring something in her ear which made her laugh again and smile broadly. 

“You’re forgiven. Now, what’s all this about Lucius?” Hermione straightened her skirt again as Harry sat down. 

“He’s dead.” Harry shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. “I’ve just been to Azkaban. Malfoy said something about Influenza but it sounded like a cover up to me.” 

“They have a hospital ward for prisoners.” Ron looked confused. “Don’t they?” 

“Do you think something is going on?” Hermione looked at Harry with concern, and he nodded in response. 

“I reckon there’s something not quite _right_ about the place – the guards in particular, I mean. They’re shifty, like they have something to hide, and Malfoy seemed terrified of any Ministry intervention.” 

“What should we do about it?” Ron looked confused. “Talk to Shacklebolt?” 

“Malfoy said he didn’t want that – he said it would make everything worse.” Harry raked his hand through his hair with a sigh. “I don’t know what the bloody hell to do – I’m not even sure I trust the Ministry. Who knows who it might get back to?” 

“No.” Ron exchanged a look with Hermione and shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right to visit – keep an eye on things a bit.” 

“It seems like the only thing I can do at the moment.” Harry let out a growl of frustration. “It’s supposed to be different now – with Voldemort dead and buried – it’s not supposed to be like this.” 

“Tensions are still running high.” Hermione tapped her finger against her lip thoughtfully. “I know where I can access some files on Azkaban. Perhaps that will give us something to go on.” 

“If the problem is inside the Ministry, I have to say Malfoy’s probably right,” Ron grimaced. “I doubt he would thank us for letting the guards know someone has been spreading rumours. Particularly if there is something else going on with the place.” 

“I know.” Harry gave Ron and Hermione an apologetic look. “It looks like it’s just us again. Promise me this won’t go any further?” 

“You know it won’t.” Hermione smiled at Harry as he stood to leave, but he could sense she was worried. “Be careful, Harry.” 

“You know me.” Harry grinned and stepped into the Floo. “More lives than a Kneazle. I’ll be fine.” 

With that he threw the powder down and returned to the dark comfort of Grimmauld Place. 

That night Harry dreamt of Azkaban, Malfoy and solitary confinement. He was in a small, black, windowless room where the walls pulsed and shadows moved in the darkness despite the fact he was the only one there.

His dreams were filled with Dementors over the Quidditch pitch, the starry sky on the ceiling of the Great Hall and the final _Avada Kedavra_ at the end of the war. Then Hogwarts disappeared and he was pulled back to Grimmauld Place which was filled with strange furniture and the sound of a man weeping. He moved towards the sound, reminded of finding Malfoy in their sixth year and the sound of his own voice casting _Sectumsempra_. He reached for the door and as his hand touched the cool metal, everything turned green with a hiss and a scream. When Harry woke, he could still hear the sound of Yaxley laughing.

With a shiver, Harry gripped his wand and flicked it to cast a dim light which made the shadows of his furniture stretch tall along the walls of his bedroom. He lay still for a long time, with his eyes wide open as he thought of a world where nothing had changed and the sinking realisation that this time, he was powerless to stop it.

Before he finally fell into a deep sleep, Harry thought he could hear the same, distant sound of sobbing coming from somewhere deep within the heart of the house.

OoooOOoooO

It had been three months since Harry had first visited Malfoy at Azkaban. He had gone back again, once a week. Malfoy had stopped asking him not to visit. Now he just looked resigned; the dull look in his eyes had been replaced by a spark of indecipherable emotion when Harry entered the room.

Sometimes they talked, while other times they sat in relative silence. Harry had taken to bringing a Wizarding chess set with him and they would play a long game until the guards started looking at their watches and making obvious noises about needing to close the prison to visitors for the evening. Harry knew he was allowed to stay longer than most due to his name, and he was happy to do so in this instance. 

Malfoy beat Harry at chess every time, at one point asking with suspicion if Harry was letting him win or if he really was just that bad at chess. Harry had taken lessons from Ron and was improving, however -- to the point that after their last game Draco looked grudgingly impressed and had offered his hand for Harry to shake. Harry had accepted and met Malfoy’s cool gaze, reminded of the last time Malfoy had offered his hand to Harry and the story that had set in motion. 

The Ministry had worked hard to round up the remaining Death Eaters and all, bar Yaxley, were now accounted for. As a result of Yaxley still being at large, Hermione continued to caution Harry to take care, but Kinglsey had relented somewhat. Harry had begun training with the Aurors after badgering Kingsley to let him help, but most of the training so far had been limited to classrooms and textbooks. Harry suspected it would be some time before he was allowed to progress to work on cases and spend time out in the field. 

He continued to monitor the guards at Azkaban, noticing on occasion the bloodied marks on Draco’s wrists, wondering if those were from the handcuffs or something more. In any event, Draco’s clothes had become dirty and threadbare and his hair was lank and unwashed. It was clear enough to Harry that the prisoners were given no form of comfort, not even the simple ability to bathe themselves, but he had decided that if making a fuss would put Malfoy in danger, he would be better to wait until Malfoy was released. 

He once commented to the guards that Malfoy looked unwashed and enquired casually about the facilities at the prison. The next time he visited, Malfoy smelt strongly of disinfectant and had been clothed in a fresh prison tunic, his hair bright instead of the lank, dirty blond it had become. Malfoy seemed subdued on that visit, his eyes glittered strangely and his cheeks flared with two hot, red points, as he looked at Harry. He looked almost angry and kept his mouth in a straight line, as if he was trying to bite back the words he wanted to say. 

Harry didn’t speak to the guards about the facilities for the prisoners after that, although he and Hermione continued to delve into files on Azkaban, scouring the text for some sort of proof of malpractice and abuse. 

Harry tried to think of ways he could get Malfoy out, but when he began to suggest in hushed tones the vague semblance of a plan, Malfoy looked around with wide, terrified eyes, then pulled back and hissed at Harry to shut up. 

Without Malfoy’s willing cooperation there was nothing Harry could do, and because he didn’t know who could be trusted at the Ministry, Harry was left frustrated and entirely at a loss. 

Grimmauld Place had begun to look almost habitable, although even with the strongest magic, Harry didn’t have a clue how he could completely get rid of the dust that seemed to come from nowhere and settle on the floor with alarming frequency. He also desperately needed new furniture, but something put him off making any quick purchases. He had commented to Ron that he might ask Malfoy’s advice when he was released from Azkaban, and Ron had made a non-committal grunt, giving Harry the sort of _look_ that made Harry’s cheeks flush. 

That morning, he picked up the _Prophet_ and flicked through the pages, sipping his tea as he read the articles, letting out a groan at the latest Quidditch results. He had almost finished reading when a small note caught his attention. 

_**Deceased :** Narcissa Malfoy. Beloved mother, wife and sister. Narcissa is survived by her only son, Draco Malfoy, who is currently serving a sentence in Azkaban for war crimes and her estranged sister, Andromeda._

Harry crumpled up the paper and hurriedly stood, then pulled on his coat and gloves. He arrived at Azkaban as quickly as possible and the guard at the gate seemed surprised to see him. 

“You usually visit on Wednesdays.” 

“Not today.” Harry pointed to the stairs. “I’ll carry on up, then?” 

“Alright,” the guard looked wary and stepped to one side to let Harry into the prison. 

When Harry got upstairs the second guard looked displeased to see him. “You again – it’s not your usual day for visiting.” He stood and heaved a put-upon sigh as he went to fetch Draco, while Harry took his usual seat. 

“Potter.” 

“How are you?” Harry looked carefully at Draco who was once again filthy, his face streaked with mud and dirt, as if he had been crying. He stared into his lap with red-rimmed, puffy eyes instead of looking at Harry. Harry came to the sickening realisation that his earlier assumption when he had found Draco clean had been correct, and the crude washing Draco received which left him smelling strongly of disinfectant was instigated by Harry’s visits. 

“You really are stupid, Potter.” Even Malfoy’s snapping carried no real force anymore and Harry noticed that he had clenched his hands together so tightly that they'd gone white. 

Harry wanted to move around to comfort Draco, but from the looks the guards were giving them, he suspected that wouldn’t do any good at all, so he stayed in place. 

“I’m sorry about your mum.” Harry winced when he saw Draco biting his bottom lip. Draco's throat worked as he swallowed thickly. 

“I bet you are.” Draco’s voice had lost its bitter edge, despite his words, and he kept his eyes firmly on the floor. He placed his hands on the table, heaving the heavy metal chains as if the effort was exhausting. 

“You don’t look well.” Harry reached out and took one of Draco’s hands in his own, seeing how the nail on one of his fingers appeared to be missing. “What happened?” 

“ _Get off!_ ” Draco spat out his words and yanked his hands away from Harry, but not before Harry noticed the tremble in them. “I ask you not to visit, yet you do. I ask you not to show me pity, but every time, you look at me like I am _beneath_ you.” Finally, Draco raised his eyes and his mouth twisted into a grimace. “Don’t you understand that seeing you pity me makes everything worse? Seeing you sitting opposite me in new clothes, well fed and happy, asking me if I am _alright_?” Draco struggled to stand and Harry noticed he appeared to be shuffling uncomfortably. 

“Malfoy, please. I wanted to see you – I wanted you to have someone, especially now your mum-” 

“Don’t you talk about my mother!” Malfoy rounded on Harry and pressed his face close. His breath smelt stale and the lingering scent of disinfectant still clung to his skin. “You know _nothing_.” 

“I’m sorry.” Harry couldn’t resist and reached for Draco, putting his hand lightly on his shoulder. Malfoy stopped still and looked at Harry for a long moment. He turned to look at the hand on his shoulder, and despite the lightness of the touch, Harry thought for one moment Draco looked as if he might collapse under the weight of it. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and small. 

“Next week, when you visit, bring chess.” 

“Okay.” Harry withdrew his hand and let it fall uselessly at his side. He held his breath as he waited for Draco to continue. 

“I want to _forget_ , Potter – do you understand?” Draco looked up and met Harry’s eyes. “I don’t wish to be constantly reminded of where I am and what has happened.” 

“Got it.” Harry gave Draco a firm nod and tried to lift a smile. “Git.” 

“Prize bloody prat.” Draco’s bottom lip trembled, but he gave Harry the smallest quirk of a smile and a flicker of emotion appeared behind his eyes. “Wear something half decent next week, too. The t-shirts you wear make my eyes burn.” 

“Maybe a Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt?” Harry gave Draco a genuine grin and Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“Wonderful.” 

“See you next week, Malfoy.” 

When Harry turned to leave, he paused at the top of the stairs. He heard the sound of one of the guards laughing, a cruel sort of sound. He made his way down the stairs and the sound of sobbing followed him until he was clear of the gates and the salt spray from the water beat against his face. The stars shone in the sky above the prison, the only light in what Harry thought might be one of the darkest places on earth.

OoooOOoooO

The black turrets stood stark against the violet sky and Harry shivered in the cool breeze, which wrapped around him as he stood at the large door to Malfoy Manor. He remembered the last time he had been here, Hermione's screams and the way Draco had looked at Harry when Harry had knelt before him with his face swollen and sore and his eyes pleading for mercy.

He lifted his hand and let the brass doorknocker fall a couple of times. There was nothing but silence from the Manor and Harry waited until the watery moon rose in the sky. He rapped on the door again, determined to get a response. A shuffling sound came from behind the door at last and the sound of rusty bolts being drawn left Harry’s mouth dry as he prepared himself to face Malfoy again. 

Malfoy wrenched the door open and glared at Harry. “What the fuck do you want?” 

Harry took in the trim, expensive tailoring of Draco’s clothes and noticed how they didn’t appear to hang quite right anymore, as if Draco would need to grow into the lines and the curves once again. 

“I wanted to talk.” 

“You did?” Draco sneered at Harry and pressed close to him. “Have a good laugh did you, Potter? I suppose you told all your little friends about the last time you saw me, dressed in rags and in chains – bet they enjoyed that.” 

“For fucks sake, let me in and stop being such a prat.” Harry gave Malfoy his best glare and then pushed past him into the house, Malfoy’s shift to one side a tacit acceptance of Harry crossing over the threshold. 

The Manor was as dark and gloomy as Harry remembered, and it looked as if nobody had bothered to clean up since the war. He expected the house-elves had found employment elsewhere, after Lucius had died. With Narcissa in St Mungos and Draco in Azkaban they would have had no home to tend to. Still, Harry was surprised that Draco would keep the place like this, even though he had only been released a couple of days prior. The walls were thick with cobwebs and the dry remains of snakeskin littered the floor. Harry was reminded of Grimmauld Place before he had tried to start the clean-up operation, the walls thick with shadows and the paintings layered with deep, choking, dust. 

“Nice place.” Harry wrinkled his nose and then sighed when he saw the look of fury on Draco’s face. “Seriously – I could help you clear it up a bit, if you’d like?” 

“Why?” Malfoy narrowed his eyes with suspicion and then shook his head. “There’s no point in any event. I’m selling it.” 

“Why would you do that?” Harry blurted out the words before he could stop himself and winced as he saw hot, pink spots raise in Draco’s cheeks. 

“Because it’s fucking _depressing_ being here. Mother and father are dead, it is hardly a family home any longer.” 

“I see.” Harry looked around more carefully and saw that there were small patches of things which Draco had taken the time to clean. There was a photograph of Narcissa, pulling her hair back off the nape of her neck and smiling for the camera. Another photograph of Lucius, caught in a rare moment of laughter, stood next to it. The frames were polished carefully and the table they sat on was clear of dust and debris. 

“Do you?” Draco’s eyes narrowed at he glared at Harry. “I watched people die at our dining room table. I watched my aunt carve up Granger in the drawing room and I saw my father subjected to the _Cruciatus_ curse on numerous occasions just because it gave the Dark Lord _pleasure_ to hear him cry.” Draco snapped out the final words before he followed Harry’s gaze to the photos. 

“Your parents wouldn’t want the place to leave the family, would they?” 

“Don’t you dare tell me what my parents would have wanted.” Draco looked at Harry furiously. Without waiting for Harry to reply, he began to make his way down the long hall, looking back over his shoulder when Harry stood perfectly still. “Come on, Potter.” 

“Where are we going?” Harry rushed to catch Draco up, and didn’t receive a response until they reached a large study. The walls were covered with bookshelves filled with leather bound books. An antique globe stood on a large mahogany desk, which was filled with yellowing parchment and thick with the same dust which appeared to have been allowed to settle on the most of the surfaces in the Manor. 

“This is where he did it.” Malfoy looked at the centre of the room, his face twisted in a grimace as he steadfastly refused to look at Harry. “This is where I took the Mark.” 

“Oh.” Harry nodded dumbly, a little uncertain as to how he should respond to that. 

“Do you know what burning flesh smells like, Potter?” Malfoy turned and looked at Harry with a bitter smile and Harry shook his head. “I do. I know exactly what it smells like. I know what grown men sound like when they scream until their eyes fill with blood. I know what Fenrir does to young girls because one day I was invited to _watch_.” Malfoy spat the word out with disgust and then walked from the room, pushing past Harry and holding the door open. “Get out, will you.” 

“I just wanted to-” 

“Fuck off. I want you to _fuck off._ ” Malfoy’s voice was cold and furious and Harry forced himself not to recoil at the sound of it. 

“You think you’re the only one who has lost someone?” Harry tried not to let his anger show because this wasn’t just the Malfoy who behaved like a prat before a Quidditch match – this Malfoy had been in Azkaban and had lost both of his parents. Harry drew a breath to steady himself and clenched his hands slowly into fists as he counted to ten. “I understand and if you gave me ten bloody minutes of your time you would realise I’m trying to help.” 

“What do you know?” Malfoy muttered and looked down at the floor. 

“I may not know what it feels like to take the Dark Mark, but I know what it feels like having him inside my _head_ at night – I know what it feels like to cast _Cruciatus_ and enjoy it, because I felt him sometimes. It made him pretty fucking happy, as you already know from watching him do it. I know what it feels like to lose people I love – to watch them die.” Harry stopped because Malfoy still hadn’t looked up. The silence stretched between them and when Malfoy finally raised his eyes he just looked tired. 

“Get lost, Potter.” 

Harry gritted his teeth, tempted to say something else but thought better of it. He turned to leave and walked down the dark corridors, pausing only when he heard Malfoy call his name. 

“What?” 

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Malfoy looked small as the dark shadows stretched around his slim frame and his eyes glittered in the dark hall as he watched Harry. “I told you once that I don’t want your pity. I _hate_ that you pity me more than anything they ever did to me in Azkaban. I certainly don’t need the so called _Saviour_ to save me.” 

“I’m not trying to _save_ you, Malfoy. I suppose I just reckon everybody needs _somebody_ because it would be a miserable bloody life otherwise. But I’ll leave you alone if you like, because it’s pretty clear I’m not helping anything by being here.” With that, Harry opened the door and let the fingertips of the cold night air caress his face as he tilted his neck and looked up at the stars. 

When he reached the wrought iron gates of the Manor, he looked back once and saw a small face watching him. When he looked back a second time, however, the Manor was shrouded in darkness and Malfoy had disappeared from sight.

OoooOOoooO

Harry opened the owl, which had been sealed shut with a black wax stamp. The elegant scrawl on the front made him wonder if it was from Malfoy, but if that was the case he was quite sure it would have borne the Malfoy crest. In any event, he very much doubted after their last conversation several weeks ago that Malfoy would have any cause to be writing to him, unless it was to tell him to piss off again.

With a sigh, Harry opened the letter and looked at the text. He studied it until darkness covered the room and everything felt cold.

  
_  
I know exactly how I want to kill you._

_First I will crush the bones in your legs so you can’t run from me. Then I will break your fingers one by one. I will put acid in your eyes so you cry blood tears and the last thing you feel before you die will be my hand reaching inside your body._

_I’m going to turn you inside out, you filthy little Mudblood cunt._

_I can’t wait to hear you scream, Harry Potter.  
_

OoooOOoooO

“It just came in the post?” Ron looked at the letter and pulled a face. “Bloody macabre, if you ask me.”

“It’s gruesome.” Hermione turned it over in her hands. “It has to be from Yaxley.” 

“I can’t think who else.” Harry ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Bloody hell.” 

“There’s no one else who bears a grudge against you?” Ron looked seriously at Harry, and he clenched his hands into fists. 

“I know what you’re suggesting and no, it’s not Malfoy.” 

“Can you be sure?” Hermione looked concerned. “Although it doesn’t seem like something he would do.” 

“Not exactly behaving like the Malfoy we know and love though, is he?” Ron leaned forward and spoke urgently. “Think about it, Harry. He’s just been released from prison and you told us yourself that Azkaban fucked him up. His parents aren’t around anymore and he’s not your biggest fan.” 

“It’s not Malfoy,” Harry replied firmly. He thought of Malfoy as he had last seen him, small against the long shadows on the wall of the Manor. “He’s not exactly _nice_ to me, but he’s not about to send me a letter like that.” 

“You need to be careful.” Hermione reached for Harry and patted his hand. “Promise me.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, his eyes still fixed on the letter in Hermione’s hand. “I promise.”

OoooOOoooO

“What are you doing here?” Harry opened the door to Grimmauld Place to find Malfoy standing on his doorstep, looking uncertain. He still looked thinner than he should be, but his face was flushed a light pink, and he looked healthier than he had when Harry saw him at the Manor a couple of weeks before.

“I went for a walk and ended up here.” Malfoy let out a bitter laugh. “Apparently I have nowhere else to go.” 

“Come in.” Harry stood to the side to allow Malfoy to come into his home. He watched Malfoy look around curiously before turning to look at Harry. 

“I thought you said you had done the place up?” 

“I have.” Harry grimaced as Malfoy rubbed the toe of his shoe in the dust and arched an eyebrow at Harry. “I don’t have a house-elf and apparently I’m crap at keeping things tidy. It’s getting there.” 

“Is it?” Malfoy moved from the hallway into the living room, and Harry heard his voice carry, with a note of disdain. “Good grief, it smells like somebody died in here.” 

“It’s mildew and damp.” Harry followed Malfoy into the room, then closed the door behind them and gestured to the sofa. “Take a seat.” 

Draco sat tentatively perched on the end of the sofa. His nose wrinkled, as if he worried he might catch something from sitting down. 

“You need a new sofa.” Draco’s brow furrowed as he looked at the floor. “Not to mention a new carpet.” 

“I know – I haven’t had that much time to think about shopping.” Harry shrugged and sat next to Malfoy. “What can I do for you?” 

“Nothing.” Draco shrugged and then reached into the pocket of his trousers. He pulled out a small chessboard, after levitating a table across to them. He put the small board on the table and used a quick flick of his wand to resize it. “Chess?” 

Harry looked at Draco dumbly, remembering the last time they'd met, and then decided he wouldn’t push it, not when Draco was here and acting as if he didn’t hate Harry as much as Harry thought he might. 

“Why not?”

OoooOOoooO

“I got this a while ago.” For the past month, Draco had visited Grimmauld Place every Wednesday, just as Harry had visited Azkaban. They tended to play chess, without much conversation between them, aside from one or two derisory comments Draco would make about Harry’s chess playing skills.

Harry had begun to _notice_ Malfoy in a way which left him feeling confused and full of a strange, heated shame. He noticed the angular lines of Malfoy’s face in the light from the fire, and the way his hair fell over his forehead sometimes and Harry would itch to brush it back. 

Of course, Harry would never reach out and do what he wanted. Malfoy didn’t like to be touched, that much was clear. Sometimes their hands would brush over the chess set and Malfoy would flinch back as if he'd been burned. When he stretched out to move one of his pieces, Harry noticed deep rings around Malfoy’s wrists. The red tissue had softened in colour, but the scars still remained, and Harry wondered at them. He knew Draco had been shackled but it looked as if he had fought and struggled against something repeatedly that had left deep marks on his pale skin. 

Harry would cook before Draco’s visits, and they would tuck into hot bowls of soup and warm loaves of bread that filled the house with the glorious smell of baking. He would leave a pile of chocolate frogs out, which Malfoy studiously ignored for the first two weeks. On the third week, he had looked longingly at the chocolate and Harry had laughed. 

“Take one – I left them out for you.” 

“I’m not an idiot, Potter.” Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry, but took a chocolate nonetheless, his eyes falling closed as he savoured the flavour. By the time they reached the fourth week of their routine, Malfoy would tuck into his food and chocolate with fervour and Harry was pleased to notice the gaunt, skeletal appearance had left Malfoy as he began to look brighter. 

As he became stronger, Malfoy’s attitude to Harry also changed, and he began to revert back to something of his previous form, making pointed remarks about the new furnishings Harry had settled on, or passing comment on Harry’s abilities in the kitchen. 

They began to fall into an easy sort of banter, not exactly friends, but somewhere in between. 

They had finished their game and Harry wanted to keep Malfoy there just a bit longer. He found he missed the company once Draco had left, and spent long nights thinking about a sidelong glance or brushed fingertips over the chessboard. 

“What the hell is this?” Malfoy read the letter and then looked up at Harry, his face set and angry. “When did you get this?” 

“About a month ago,” Harry shrugged. “There hasn’t been anything else since.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Draco waved the letter at Harry. “Does the Ministry know?” 

“No, but I told Ron and Hermione.” 

Draco pursed his lips and dropped the letter, arching an eyebrow at Harry. “Oh, well that should be fine. Merlin, you’re a total _idiot_ , Potter. I hope Granger at least appreciates the seriousness of this?” 

“She told me to be careful,” Harry agreed. As Draco snorted, he realised how lame that sounded. 

“Too bloody right. It’s got to be Yaxley.” 

“That’s what we thought.” Harry took the letter back and folded it carefully and then placed it back in the drawer before joining Malfoy on the sofa again. “Doesn’t matter, I’m safe while I’m here.” 

“Are you?” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes, I bet you think you are. You really don’t have a clue what someone like Yaxley is capable of doing. The Death Eaters weren’t all lumbering idiots, you know. Some of them would give Granger a run for her money. Yaxley was psychotic and a sadist. You can bet your last Knut he has something planned.” 

“You think?” Harry frowned and looked over at the drawer where he had placed the letter. “It’s been a while and nothing has happened.” 

“Because he’s lulling you into a false sense of security, no doubt.” Draco looked around as if Yaxley was in the room, watching them, and glared at Harry. “Is this place even safe?” 

“Safe enough.” Harry flushed because he still hadn’t sorted out his wards, although he knew he needed to. He had been too focused on thinking about his next visits with Draco, attending late classes as part of his Auror training, and working through the mountain of fresh study materials. 

“Liar.” Malfoy folded his arms and glared at Harry again. 

“He can’t be worse than Voldemort.” Harry laughed, to try to lighten the mood, and grinned at Malfoy. “I did alright there.” 

“Potter, you’re bloody insane!” Draco’s eyes widened and he moved closer to Harry, speaking urgently. “Yaxley is just as dangerous as the Dark Lord – you think because he’s completely human he can’t touch you? The capacity some of the Dark wizards had for evil would surprise you, and there’s a few on your side that you need to look out for too.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Harry looked at Draco with confusion. 

“I _mean_ your perfect Ministry is about as corrupt as the Death Eaters were, we were just more honest about it.” Malfoy looked away from Harry and pulled back to put more distance between them again. “The guards at Azkaban, for a start.” 

“I knew there was more to it.” Harry reached out to place his hand on Draco’s arm, but pulled back before his touch landed, thinking better of it. “What went on there?” 

“Use your imagination.” Draco turned to give Harry a bitter smile. “And that’s probably not the half of it.” 

“It wasn’t Influenza that killed your father, was it?” Harry held his breath and Draco laughed, a short, humourless sound. 

“What do you think?” Malfoy stood and brushed off his trousers, making his way to the Floo. Harry stood and watched Draco grab a handful of Floo powder. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Home.” Malfoy stepped into the Floo and looked back at Harry, his face set. “I’m not discussing this with you. I never want to talk about Azkaban. _Ever._.” 

“But perhaps there’s something we can do,” Harry pleaded. 

“ _No._ ” Draco snapped back. “You always try to do this – you try to fix things that can’t be fixed, to save people who have no desire to be saved.” His eyes darkened as he gave Harry a strange look. “Sometimes I hate you, Potter. Sometimes I hate you so much I can hardly bear it.” 

“Draco…” Harry felt his breath leave him at Draco’s words and then, with a puff of smoke, Malfoy was gone.

OoooOOoooO

Harry couldn’t sleep as Draco’s words haunted him, making him toss and turn under the too-thick, too-heavy sheets; he threw them off the bed and stared into the darkness. Completely unable to settle, he stood, eventually, and padded downstairs. He saw the chess set, carelessly left out, then reached down for a chocolate frog and savoured the taste once it was in his mouth.

Sometimes, when Malfoy’s breath brushed over his face when they leaned close over the board, Harry would smell the sweet scent of chocolate, feeling the same hot, uncomfortable rush of what he supposed must be arousal. He couldn’t think about that now, not with Draco’s words to him fresh in his mind. 

Harry dropped his head into his hands and felt his them tremble, a dull ache in his chest and a feeling of nausea in his stomach. He wondered if Malfoy would come back again next Wednesday and thought of the carefully kneaded bread and the steaming saucepan full of soup, feeling lonely and inexplicably sad. 

When Harry opened his eyes, he saw that a parcel wrapped in brown paper had been left on the hearth. It hadn’t been there when he'd gone to bed, he was quite sure of that. With a frown, Harry drew his wand and approached it with caution. He crouched down and saw a note on top of the parcel.

_  
Potter,_

_I’m sorry._

_D.M.  
_

Harry felt his heart lift and let out a low chuckle. With eager hands he opened the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of green velvet, was a silver locket, engraved with the initials _S.B. III_

 _Sirius_

Harry thought of the locket which had been given to Regulus and the carefully engraved initials on it and shivered. This locket looked different, however. It was silver and there was no indication that it was anything other than a family heirloom. He began to smile, thoughts of Horcruxes forgotten entirely and replaced with memories of Padfoot. He wondered how Draco had managed to get his hands on something which had once belonged to Sirius, but he supposed it would make sense that Malfoy would have some of the Black family heirlooms. He could just imagine Sirius leaving behind something like this because it had been given to him by his mother and father, and wondered why Draco hadn’t thought to mention it before. 

Harry ran his fingers over the locket and the soft velvet and felt his heart beating more quickly with excitement, both at the possibilities of what might be inside and the fact that Draco had thought to give him something like this. 

With a grin, he carefully lifted the locket out of its box. He opened it slowly to look inside. 

With a flash of green smoke and the sound of a high-pitched scream, everything went black.

OoooOOoooO

Harry coughed and spluttered, wafting the peculiar smelling smoke away, his hand still clutched to the locket. He looked at the gold object in his hand, but it was empty. He blinked and reached blindly for his glasses, which had been knocked off his face with the force of the explosion, and put them on as he tried to see where the hell he had ended up.

Instead of being in a dungeon or buried deep in the heart of Knockturn Alley, he seemed to be exactly where he had sat only moments prior, although Grimmauld Place looked rather different. The floor was completely free of dust, for a start, and the furnishings in the living room were expensive and looked new, instead of the somewhat shabby second hand furnishings he had purchased a couple of weeks ago. 

“Potter?” 

“Malfoy?” Harry looked up and adjusted his glasses because now he knew something definitely wasn’t quite right. Not only did Malfoy look as if he had seen a ghost, but he also looked older, somehow. His shoes were black, highly polished brogues and Harry could see flashes of elegant black trousers underneath expensive green robes, as if he had just been attending a formal meeting. Instead of looking at Harry with his usual derisory smirk or angry glare, he began to back away as if he was scared. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” Malfoy pulled his wand and continued to back away from Harry, his eyes wild. 

“What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?” With a snort, Harry stood and coughed again, brushing the dust off his jeans and glaring. “Why are you wearing your best robes? More to the point, how did you get into my home?” 

“I don’t know what sort of magic this is, but you should know my father had some very powerful friends who will send someone to look for me.” Malfoy’s face was flushed with anger as he jabbed his wand forward again. “Explain yourself.” 

Harry took a step towards Malfoy and stood still, his hands rising when Malfoy jabbed his wand again. “Have you gone barmy? I’m Harry – you know that. I was up late and opened a parcel – a parcel _you_ sent to me, no less, and the next thing I know you’re standing here pointing your wand at me.” Harry held up the locket in his hand and thrust it towards Malfoy, who eyed it with more than a little trepidation.

“I don’t believe you.” Malfoy’s voice was rough as he examined the locket with the same wild look. “You’re dead.” 

“I’m not _dead_.” Harry felt a strange rush of panic and moved a little closer to Malfoy, tentatively holding out his hand. “Definitely not a ghost – check if you like.” Harry looked at his own hand to double check he definitely _wasn’t_ a ghost, but he looked nothing like Myrtle or any of the other Hogwarts ghosts and he was fairly positive he was still flesh and blood, not least because the sound of his heart beating in panic was loud in his ears. 

“I didn’t give you that – I have never seen it before in my life.” Malfoy took another step away from Harry, his usually collected expression crumpling into the strangest look. 

“You left, after we played chess.” Harry shrugged, not wanting to repeat what Malfoy had said. “I thought this was an apology. Stupid of me.” 

“I…” Malfoy trailed off and then pocketed his wand, adjusting his tie as if breathing had become difficult. “I can assure you, I didn’t leave you anything. But this explains why the Aurors had me arrested.” Malfoy glared at Harry as if it was his fault somehow. 

“Arrested for what?” Harry looked at Malfoy and felt the colour leave his cheeks. “They didn’t put you back in Azkaban?” 

“For your murder. They had me arrested for your murder.” Malfoy watched Harry with the same strange look on his face. “And no, they found the real perpetrator before my trial and I was released without charge.” 

“I’m not _dead_ ,” Harry repeated a little uselessly. 

“It seems not.” Malfoy took a ragged, unsteady breath and gestured to the sofa as if he wanted Harry to sit down. He leaned back against the wall as if he wasn’t able to hold himself steady anymore and Harry watched him close his eyes and collect himself. 

“What am I doing here?” Harry sat and frowned, opening the locket again but this time nothing happened. He noticed a piece of paper wedged inside and pried it out, unfurling it and reading it until his hand started to shake.

  
_  
I’ve made it so you won’t fit anywhere anymore._

_Tick tock, Potter._

_I hope your filthy blood bleeds out until there’s nothing left._

  


“Show me.” Draco’s voice was tight and Harry didn’t have the strength to refuse. He handed Malfoy the note and watched him read. 

“What does it mean?” Harry couldn’t stop his hands from shaking and clasped them together to try to still them. “What the fuck does it _mean_?” 

“Damned if I know, Potter.” Malfoy looked paler than usual and when Harry watched him read the letter, he noticed that Draco’s hands were trembling too.

OoooOOoooO

“What year is this?”

It was some time later and Malfoy had run various checks to make sure Harry wasn’t an imposter using Polyjuice or a Glamour. When he seemed satisfied that Harry was indeed who he claimed to be, Malfoy had snapped at one of the house-elves to make some tea and had settled himself on the sofa next to Harry after taking off his outer robes and rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows as if to show he meant business. 

They sat in relative silence, with Malfoy giving Harry strange looks out of the corner of his eye. Harry took the opportunity to look at him more closely. His face definitely looked older and when coupled with the elegant robes, Malfoy looked almost professional. His mannerisms were different too. He still had the same angular features and thin lips, which were currently set in a firm line as he studied the locket, but he hadn’t exactly been looking at Harry as he usually did – with a knowing, self-satisfied smirk. The bitterness and the haunted look had left his features and he appeared almost content. 

Harry’s mind kept coming back to the letter and he could feel a dull, throbbing pain in his forehead. He sipped his tea to steady himself, fighting back the tears which threatened and waited for Draco to respond to his query. 

“You died ten years ago today,” Malfoy responded. “Or so we believed.” 

“You said the perpetrator was caught?” Harry suppressed the shudder that went through him at the word _died_. I assume it was Yaxley?” 

“They never found your body but Yaxley was overheard bragging about your demise in the Knockturn Tavern. The Aurors arrested him, released me and spent months trying to find you, but it was to no avail. He never gave away his secret and by all accounts went completely barmy in Azkaban. He was Kissed just before the anniversary of your disappearance. This explains why they never found your body, of course. It must have been a curse of some kind.” Malfoy spoke in a cool drawl, but Harry could distinguish a slight tremble to his voice. 

“But the Dementors didn’t have anything to do with Wizarding sentences after the war.” Harry felt his hands go clammy as he looked at Draco, nervously. “Did they?” 

“No, thankfully.” Draco shuddered and then finally turned to look at Harry. “Yaxley was the last person they let the Dementors take. I suppose they thought it was fitting, you being the Saviour of the Wizarding world and everything. Nobody else has been punished with the Kiss for the last ten years.” 

“I wouldn’t have wanted them to bring the Dementors back for me – it goes against everything I believed. Surely they knew that?” 

“Perhaps,” Draco shrugged. “At that point I’m not entirely sure they cared. They just wanted to get rid of Yaxley and they wanted to send a very clear message to the rest of us.” He gave Harry another one of his odd, sideways glances. “In any event there is a difference between the man and the legend.” 

“I don’t understand.” Harry felt as if he didn’t understand _anything_ at the moment and he hated the feeling of uncertainty and confusion. 

“I mean the man the press portrayed after your death – the man a new generation grew up hearing about – is somewhat different to the Potter I knew, let alone your closest friends.” 

"Bloody press." Harry scowled at the thought and Draco shrugged. 

"Unfortunately both the Ministry and the _Prophet_ seized upon your death and took it as an opportunity to legislate and market their own politics in your name. Some tried to stop it, of course - the Weasley family in particular were pretty vocal about it. At the time, they didn't have enough clout to do much to stop it. It’s only been in the last year or two that Weasley has progressed far enough in the Ministry to have any influence over what the press says. Granger has been trying to reverse some of it through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Potter’s List, in particular.

“Potter’s List?” Harry gaped at Malfoy who turned to face him head on at last.

“A list of _undesirables_ \- those who are seen as a threat to society. It means their ability to take certain jobs, such as teaching at Hogwarts, is restricted.” Malfoy smiled bitterly. “I’m on it, in case you wondered. Stupid bloody thing.”

“But that’s not something I would ever have supported.” Harry clenched his hands tightly, feeling nauseous.

“I know,” Draco conceded. “Others knew that too, but there has been a lot of rot inside the Ministry for a number of years. The tide is turning, but slowly.”

"I see." Harry felt a sense of frustration that his name had been used without his authority. He thought of facing down Voldemort for the final time and the hope of better times. Harry knew a world without Voldemort was preferable than the alternative but the thought that there was still so much wrong with the system he had hoped might change saddened him.

“You look like your crup just died, Potter.” Draco broke the silence and startled Harry from his thoughts as his mind worked feverishly. 

“So you’re saying I’ve been missing for ten years? Which makes you twenty eight, I suppose.” Harry tried to process what Draco was saying and thought about the time he had disappeared from, where his friends would discover his disappearance and assume he had been killed. “I have to get a message to people somehow, with a Time Turner or something. I have to let them know I’m alright.” 

“It’s too dangerous.” Malfoy shook his head firmly. “This is clearly Dark magic. We can’t be certain what impact it would have on everything if you appear back in your own time and start telling people you’re alive. It could change everything.” 

“But I’m not meant to be here. This is all wrong.” Harry furrowed his brow and swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“Perhaps.” Malfoy looked up and his eyes connected with Harry’s, his face twisted into a grimace. “But you’re not supposed to be there either. If you do suddenly appear, Merlin only knows what that could change. There’s a reason the use of Time Turners is so strictly regulated. You can’t just go charging in without understanding the consequences.” 

“I can’t just do nothing – I can’t let everybody think I’m not coming back.” The ache just above his Harry’s scar deepened and he rubbed his forehead out of habit more than anything else. 

“We don’t know yet that you are going to be able to get back. You can’t operate with a Time Turner permanently. You mustn’t do anything until we know more about this curse.” Malfoy’s face flickered with emotion and then his features smoothed and he turned to glare at Harry as if his presence offended him. “This is preposterous. Trust you to come barging into my home of all the places Yaxley could have sent you.” 

“Hang on…this is _my_ home.” Harry glared right back at Malfoy, folding his arms across his chest – arguing with Malfoy seemed easier than thinking about his dire predicament. He ran his hand over the sofa which was covered in a plush, expensive material. “Why have you got the place all decked out in poncy furniture anyway?” 

“Grimmauld Place belongs to the Black family. You never made a will, there was no next of kin – the property passed to the next rightful owner – my mother. As she died before me, it passed to me. It’s old, Pureblood magic. It couldn’t have gone intestate or to anyone who didn’t have some connection to the property.” Malfoy sniffed and ran his hand over the sofa. “It’s rather more tastefully decorated now than it was. The floorboards were full of woodworm.” 

“I was trying to clean the place up, you know that.” Harry drew a shaky breath and dropped his head into his hands. “Why didn’t it go to Andromeda?” 

“Because she was disowned by the House of Black.” Draco shrugged. “Black – Sirius, I mean – was different because the property was left to him in a will. It’s old magic.” 

“Bloody magic.” Harry grimaced and looked at Malfoy. “What the hell am I going to do now?” 

“As much as it pains me to say it, we should speak to Weasel.” Draco huffed and then jabbed a long finger at Harry. “Stay here, don’t move.” 

“I won’t.” Harry looked down at the floor as Malfoy moved from the room. “I have nowhere else to go.”

OoooOOoooO

Ron and Hermione had appeared tentative and wary when they first stepped into Grimmauld Place, with Hermione conducting the same checks Draco had made, and one or two in addition. When they had satisfied themselves that Harry was indeed _Harry_ , they had spent several hours hugging and crying, until Draco had begun to roll his eyes and tap his foot, suggesting that they just bloody well get on with deciding what to do next.

“Blimey.” Ron blew his nose before he poked Harry in the arm and patted his hand on Harry’s cheek, his eyes wide. “I still can’t believe it’s really you.” 

“In the flesh.” Harry shrugged and waved Ron’s hand away with a small smile. 

“ _Harry._ ” With a sob, Hermione flung her arms around him for what felt like the hundredth time and held him close as he patted her back a little awkwardly. 

“Let’s not start this again, for the love of Merlin,” Malfoy snapped. 

When Hermione had released him, Harry took another opportunity to look at his friends. They both looked different. Hermione’s hair was longer and she had straightened it a bit so it fell in loose waves over her shoulders. Like Draco, she was dressed smartly, and Harry could only assume they had both finished work. Ron had stubble around his chin and cheeks, and he had filled out a little since Harry had last seen him. He was wearing full Auror robes and looked oddly imposing to Harry, who wasn’t used to seeing Ron looking so official. The whole thing made him feel desperately sad and uncertain. To him, Ron and Hermione were still his closest friends. But apparently they were married now and they had lived ten years without Harry, in relative comfort from the looks of things. 

“Well?” Malfoy had folded his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. “Are you going to take him with you or not?” 

“Well of course we are.” Hermione stood and held out her hand. “Come on, Harry.” 

“I’m not a child.” Harry scowled at the hand held out to him, getting the sinking feeling that he was going to be treated like this for some time. 

“I know you’re not.” Hermione dropped her hand and looked to Ron for support. “Ronald?” 

“Hang about.” Ron had finally stopped staring at Harry and picked up the locket and note, which Malfoy had dropped down earlier in the afternoon. “Is this it?” 

Malfoy nodded and rolled his eyes, then looked out of the window. “Don’t Aurors have their own offices anymore, Weaslebee? Somewhere they can conduct their investigations which isn’t _my home_?” 

“Not your bloody home though, is it?” Harry glared at Malfoy and stood up, moving towards him and clenching his hands into fists to stop himself from punching Malfoy right in the nose. 

“Get _out_.” Malfoy snapped at Harry and waved his hand to Ron and Hermione. “Take him and leave me in peace. I have no desire to be part of any of this.” 

“What a surprise.” Ron stood and scowled at Malfoy. “You always were a ferret-faced little git. Nothing has changed, I don’t care what the bloody papers say. You might be able to fool Ministry officials like your father did, but I know you Malfoy and you don’t fool me. After all the things Harry did for you.” 

“Shut up.” Malfoy’s voice was cold and furious as he met Ron’s gaze. “You know nothing about what Potter _did_ for me.” 

“I know he was the only one that cared enough to visit when they put you away. You should still be there if you ask me.” 

“Ron, bloody hell.” Harry reached out a hand to Ron to placate him, but Ron shook his hand away. 

“You know it’s true, Harry – don’t tell me you’re still defending him?” Ron looked pleadingly at Harry. “He clearly doesn’t give a toss.” 

Harry looked from Ron to Draco, just in time to see a strange expression cross Malfoy’s face before he responded tightly. “Damn right I don’t.” 

“Come on, Harry.” Hermione’s voice was clipped as she gestured to Harry to go to the Floo. “We’re staying at the Burrow with Rose and Hugo.” 

“Who?” Harry looked at Ron with confusion and saw the way he and Hermione exchanged a look – their expressions softening and filling with pride despite the tension in the room. 

“Rose is our daughter – she’s three, and Hugo has just turned one.” Hermione flushed and reached out to take Ron’s hand. “They are wonderful – you will love them, I’m sure of it.” 

“More Weasleys, just what the world needs,” Malfoy muttered. 

“You have kids?” Harry ignored Malfoy’s muttering and looked at Ron who beamed back at him. 

“Two brilliant kids – Rose has got her mother’s brains, I reckon. She’s already able to do magic, even though it’s only little bits here and there – we reckon she’s going to be Head Girl. Hugo’s going to play for the Cannons when he’s older.” 

“You can’t possibly know that,” Hermione laughed. 

“ _Gryffindors_.” Malfoy continued to look annoyed and gestured to the Floo. “As touching as this is, I would very much like you to _leave_.” 

“We’re going.” Ron’s voice returned to the same clipped, angry tone he had used before the topic of his children had been mentioned. “After you, Harry.” 

Harry stepped into the Floo, not wanting to argue. There was so much he wanted to ask Malfoy but he was pretty certain now definitely wasn’t the right time. Harry threw down the powder and the fireplace spluttered as smoke billowed around him. Instead of feeling the familiar tug, Harry felt nothing, and when the smoke cleared he found himself exactly where he had been moments before. 

“Blimey.” Ron started at Harry as he continued to cough and splutter and Harry looked up just in time to see the look of horror on Draco’s face. “What are we going to do now?

OoooOOoooO

After a hot shower, Harry emerged from Sirius's old room, only to be confronted by Draco's haughty glare. "I suppose you will expect me to feed you?”

Draco had left out his old school jumper and some rather worn black trousers for Harry to wear. As he looked at the threadbare material, Harry was reminded of being back with the Dursleys and the cast-off clothes from Dudley that never quite fit. Harry had found his wand in his jeans pocket, which he supposed was one good thing in this whole sorry mess, and he had used it to alter the sizing of the clothes so they fit him properly. He had just barely resisted the temptation to turn the Slytherin colours and crest on the jumper into Gryffindor burgundy and gold. 

“I don’t expect you to do anything.” Harry glared at Malfoy as his stomach rumbled, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not your house-elf, Potter.” 

“I never said you were.” Harry followed Malfoy despite being sorely tempted to slam the door to his room and keep himself as far away as possible. 

“Here.” When they reached the dining room, Malfoy somewhat snippily placed a bowl of piping hot soup in front of Harry and then sat at the opposite end of the long table. He tucked a napkin into his shirt collar while Harry looked at the soup with surprise. The carefully made loaf of bread had a golden crust and the soup was the same creamy vegetable that Harry had made for Malfoy when they had last played chess on that disastrous evening. It was just a coincidence, Harry supposed. 

“You do this every night?” Harry looked around the room -- a large candelabra hung over the centre of the table. He felt almost inclined to raise his voice, there was so much distance between them. 

Malfoy snorted and then took a delicate spoonful of his soup. “Of course I do this every night, or do you imagine I feel your sudden appearance is something which deserves a celebratory supper?” 

“Forget it,” Harry muttered. He tucked into his soup in silence and winced as it burned his throat a little. He really was hungry and the food was delicious. He tore into a warm piece of bread and ate quickly until the bowl had emptied and the last crust of bread had been wiped around the edges to capture all of the remaining soup. “Thanks.” 

“You eat like a starving man.” Malfoy eyed Harry curiously, and then called for the house-elves to clear away their plates, before pouring himself a glass of wine and smirking at Harry. “Would you like some pumpkin juice?” 

“I’m eighteen, Malfoy.” Harry gritted his teeth to avoid snapping. “I’m old enough to drink.” 

“Barely.” Malfoy poured Harry a small measure, topping his own glass up a little in the process. “You’re probably not really used to it.” 

“I’ll do just fine, thanks very much.” Harry sniffed at the wine and pulled a face. He would have preferred pumpkin juice but there was no way he was telling Malfoy that. 

Harry continued to look around the room and relaxed. The place was a bit darker than he would have liked, and far too formal for his tastes, but Malfoy had a good eye for design. The size of the table was ridiculous, but Harry could imagine it filled with people all laughing and talking at once, wine glasses clinking together as they tucked into some delicious fare. He could imagine the setting being perfect for a large dinner, but he didn’t really get the impression that Malfoy entertained very often. There were no photos in the house that indicated Malfoy might have kept in touch with old school friends or made new ones. The only picture Harry had spotted was a tall oil painting of Draco’s mum and dad, standing shoulder to shoulder and looking tall, proud and imposing as they watched over the corridors. 

“I thought about you quite a bit after you disappeared.” Malfoy looked closely at Harry as he sipped his wine. 

“You did?” Harry wasn’t sure whether that surprised him or not. He supposed he would have been offended if Draco hadn’t thought about him at all. “You look better since I last saw you.” 

“I’m pleased to hear it.” The corners of Draco’s lips turned up in a smile and then he looked serious again. “I wondered why you ever bothered coming to see me when I was in Azkaban and then afterwards at the Manor. You’re not really so disgustingly noble that you take any waif and stray under your wing, surely?” 

“I don’t know.” Harry frowned because he still wasn’t entirely sure why he had been so fixated with Malfoy, even after Ron and Hermione had advised him against his visits to the prison. He repeated to Malfoy what he had said to them when they pushed him on the same point. “I suppose it was because you didn’t seem to have anyone else.” 

“Is that all?” Malfoy looked curious again and narrowed his eyes a little. 

“Isn’t that enough?” Harry felt his cheeks heat as he thought about the way he had started to see Malfoy in the last few weeks. He wondered what Malfoy was getting at, but the flicker of emotion that had briefly crossed his face disappeared and Malfoy nodded. 

“I suppose it will have to be.”

OoooOOoooO

Harry stretched languidly as the sun woke him from his sleep. The sheets around him were thick and warm and he pulled them up to his chin, feeling toasty.

“Potter.” 

“Draco?” Harry furrowed his brow and cracked an eye open sleepily. He moved back when he saw Malfoy peering at him curiously. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” 

“Checking you’re still here.” Malfoy pulled back and glared at Harry. “Which apparently you are.” 

“I was sleeping,” Harry huffed. He reached for his glasses and pushed them onto his nose, blinking at Malfoy who looked cross about something. 

“So I noticed. Are you aware it’s the middle of the afternoon?” 

“Is it?” Harry looked at his watch and pulled a face, as he felt his head begin to pound. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be.” 

“You can’t laze around here all day.” 

“Why?” Harry glared at Draco and folded his arms, very aware that he was wearing Slytherin green pyjamas and feeling rather embarrassed at being disturbed in the middle of a particularly good dream. 

“Because.” Malfoy glared back at Harry. “We have to find out why you’re here – if I know Yaxley at all, there’s something more to this – something we’re missing. Now get up.”

“Git.” Harry muttered under his breath. He waited for Malfoy to leave and then went to shower. He let the hot water slide over his body as he tried to process the fact he had lost ten years of his friend’s lives. He thought about the note from Yaxley and shivered.

_Tick tock, Potter_

Harry bit back his tears, his head sore and he rubbed the scar on his forehead which caused him genuine pain for the first time since the end of the war. He dropped his forehead against the slick tiles and stood for a long time, trying to gather his muddled thoughts before he made his way downstairs.

OoooOOoooO

The dreams began that night.

He was back in Azkaban, the spray from the ocean cold on his cheeks. Malfoy was there too, small and thin, his eyes hollow. He was flanked by guards on either side and he gave Harry the same haunted, bitter look he had worn so often then, a flicker of fear crossing his features. Harry tried to reach him but his legs felt heavy and he couldn’t move. He heard himself crying out as they moved away with Malfoy into the darkness of the prison, taking Draco somewhere Harry couldn’t follow.

When the room emptied, Harry noticed a large clock on the wall, which _ticked_ past the minutes. In the distance the wind howled and the sea beat against the prison walls. There was a door to the left of the room but when Harry tried to open it everything screamed.

When he woke, the room was quiet and still and Harry’s throat hurt, as if he had been trying to shout out even in his sleep. 

His head had begun to ache again, and he padded quietly downstairs to get himself some water. He rummaged through the cupboards when he heard the sound of Malfoy clearing his throat behind him.

“It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep – had a funny sort of dream.” Harry found a packet of chocolate biscuits and pulled them from the cupboard, holding them up. “Do you mind?”

“If you’re hungry the house-elves would be happy to make you something.” Malfoy gestured that Harry should have the biscuits anyway.

“This is fine.” Harry grabbed his water and looked around, not entirely sure what to do next. “I suppose I should go back to bed, then.”

“If you like.” Malfoy looked as if he didn’t particularly care and then gestured towards the living room. “I have been doing some reading.”

“You have?” Harry noticed that Malfoy wasn’t in his pyjamas. His shirt looked a little crumpled, presumably from sitting at his desk all evening. He followed Malfoy when he returned to the living room and sat opposite him, carefully placing down his water and biscuits trying not to get crumbs over Malfoy’s things.

“I don’t like it.” Malfoy frowned at a large, leather-bound book which he appeared to have been reading before Harry got up. He reached out absentmindedly and Harry noticed he kept a small jar of chocolate frogs on his desk. Harry watched Malfoy’s slim fingers open the sweet and keep it still before he ate it slowly. He closed his eyes briefly, taken back to another time of games of chess and the smell of freshly baked bread filling the rooms of Grimmauld Place.

When he opened them again, Malfoy watched him with narrowed eyes.

“What don’t you like?” Harry ignored the look Malfoy was giving him and peered at the book, attempting to read the script upside down.

“This business with travelling through time and Dark magic. I can’t find a curse which fits – or I haven’t found anything which seems to fit yet – but it’s not giving me much hope that there isn’t more to this, something we’re missing. I don’t think Yaxley meant to get rid of you, I think he meant for you to suffer. I just don’t know _what_ he did or how we reverse it.”

“If he meant for me to suffer, he’s not done a bad job,” Harry muttered and Malfoy scowled.

“I’m sure it must be unbearable for you, trapped in the same house as me. It’s no picnic for me either, Potter.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Harry looked up at Malfoy and glared. Of all the things which had left Harry feeling cold and lost earlier that evening, being trapped somewhere with Draco was the least of his worries. “It’s just like his note said – I don’t really _fit_ , do I? I know my friends from ten years ago think I’ve disappeared and I can’t find any way to send word to let them know I’m alive.”

“And being here now?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s just different. Everyone has moved on without me and I’ve missed so much. I have so many questions, I don’t know where to bloody well begin.” He looked up and met Draco’s eyes. “You’ve changed, for a start.”

“It’s been ten years. Of course I’ve changed.” Draco snorted, but Harry noticed he didn’t meet Harry’s eyes.

“You didn’t like me much.”

“No,” Malfoy agreed. The silence in the room was thick between them until finally Draco spoke again. “I never wanted you to die. That made me see things differently, when you disappeared.”

“It did?” Harry looked up at Draco, startled, wondering what he meant by that.

“Yes.” Draco finally met Harry’s gaze. “It did.”

OoooOOoooO

They spent the next couple of days pouring over the books which Draco had access to, many filled with Dark Arts and complicated, dangerous spells. What they did find hadn’t exactly been encouraging, but they still hadn’t found a curse which seemed to fit what had happened.

Ron and Hermione came round again, bringing Hugo and Rose this time, much to Draco’s annoyance. Harry spent hours playing with Rose, who really was just like her mum, and cradled Hugo in his arms before they left, pressing a soft kiss to his hot little forehead.

“He’s perfect – no, _they’re_ perfect.”

“Aren’t they?” Ron’s chest puffed out with pride. “I look at them sometimes and I can’t believe they’re ours. They’re so bloody small.” 

Harry laughed and shook his head at Ron’s wide-eyed fascination. “Perfectly formed, I’d say.”

“I wondered if we’d make it, Hermione and me.” Ron looked over at Hermione and Harry watched the way his eyes softened when he looked at her.

“Of course you were going to make it – nobody else had any doubt about that.” Harry handed Hugo back to Ron with a grin. “You look happy.”

“I am now.” Ron’s face turned serious. “I wasn’t so happy then, when I thought I’d lost my best mate. Mum and dad want to see you again. It was tough for them too - like losing another son.”

“I want to see them too.” Harry thought of Molly and Arthur and smiled at the thought of seeing them again, surrounded by the warmth of the Burrow. “Does anybody else know what’s happened?”

“Not yet.” Ron frowned and shook his head. “I’m not sure we trust anyone with it, yet. I dunno, Harry. I’m worried they’ll try to take you off somewhere, run tests, that sort of thing. There’s still folk in the Ministry who are scared enough of the Dark stuff that they might do you harm if they know it was Yaxley that brought you here. It’s safer to keep it quiet for now. My family know, Malfoy and that’s it.”

“How’s Ginny?” 

“Good.” Ron cleared his throat and didn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “Married now.”

“It’s alright.” Harry chuckled and nudged Ron. “I’m not heartbroken – you know we didn’t ever get things off the ground.”

“Why was that?” Ron looked at Harry curiously and Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks, unable to stop himself from glancing over at Malfoy, surprised to find he seemed to be listening to the conversation while Rose tugged at his hand.

“No idea.”

Ron looked at Draco and then back at Harry and raised his eyebrows. “Bloody hell. Right.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry protested, now quite sure his cheeks had gone bright red.

“No,” Ron agreed. “But you didn’t have to.”

OoooOOoooO

“You kept this?” Harry had been looking for a book to read that evening before bed, when he'd noticed his old chess set neatly laid out in the living room. The pieces looked clean and polished and Harry was reminded of the two photos of Lucius and Narcissa at the Manor, cleaned and placed carefully in a Manor full of dust.

“It’s a good-quality set.” Malfoy looked flushed at Harry’s question. “If you want to have a game, I suppose I could spare time to trounce you again.” He smirked at that when Harry rolled his eyes in response. 

“I thought I might get an early night.” Harry wasn’t going to mention anything to Draco, but his head had been hurting him all day. He had decided to go to bed early with _Quidditch Through the Ages_ or something similar and sleep until noon. At least that had been the plan until Harry realised most of Malfoy’s books appeared to be in Latin or Ancient Greek. 

“Scared, Potter?” Malfoy said the words quietly but the look he gave Harry suggested he knew those words would remind Harry of a past neither of them had forgotten. 

“Of you?” Harry snorted and then sat down, rubbing his hands together. “Right. Where do we start?”

OoooOOoooO

“Why aren’t you married?” Harry looked up from the chessboard as Draco claimed another one of his pieces. They had settled into something of a routine in the evenings, sipping on glasses of wine after supper and playing chess into the night. Just as they had ten years before, they often played in silence. Harry itched to ask Draco questions about the last ten years but he had wanted to wait until they had a comfortable routine, of sorts.

“I never found the right match.” Malfoy didn’t look at Harry and gestured to the board. “Your turn.”

Harry frowned because he was quite convinced he was going to lose again and moved his Knight, rolling his eyes when Draco tutted.

“Do you want to get married?”

“Why, are you asking?” Malfoy looked up, then and Harry felt his cheeks heat under Malfoy’s gaze. He laughed at the smile playing across Malfoy’s lips and shook his head.

“Hardly. I don’t enjoy being humiliated.”

“You’re more my type than not.” Malfoy continued to smile the same, small smile and he looked back down at the board, tapping his finger against his lips.

“Oh…” Harry trailed off and stared at Draco, feeling uncomfortably hot.

“Check.” Malfoy captured Harry’s Knight and leaned back. Their eyes met and Harry had to force himself to tear his gaze away. He noticed his heart seemed to be racing, his palms had gone clammy and it was suddenly difficult to breathe. “Your move, Potter.”

Harry continued to watch Draco for a moment before turning back to the board and wondered if they were even talking about chess anymore.

OoooOOoooO

“Potter! Wake up.”

He didn’t know what had made him cry out. There was just a tree in a field, a starless sky and a watery moon. Despite being in the vast, empty space, Harry had felt shackled in place as the wind moved around him and carried whispers in its arms.

He couldn’t make out the words, but Harry could feel the pain – he could hear it in the voices which twisted and turned and pulled at his mind as the bare tree stood tall and the ground began to burn.

“I’m awake.” Harry shook himself and sat up, fumbling for his glasses which Malfoy passed to him. Their hands brushed and Harry noticed how cool Malfoy’s skin was, his own burning hot. His head ached as it always did after his strange dreams, as if someone had been pulling at things inside his head.

“You were having a nightmare.”

“I realise,” Harry responded drily. A sense of normalcy returned and he focused on Draco, who was still dressed in his shirt and trousers. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Rarely.” Malfoy shrugged and looked down at his hands. “You’re not the only one who has nightmares, Potter.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well I don’t exactly broadcast it.” Malfoy rolled his eyes and then frowned as he looked at Harry. He moved his hand as if to feel Harry’s forehead and then dropping it down, clearly thinking better of it at the last moment. “You don’t look terribly well.”

“I don’t feel it.” Harry pulled a face and felt his own forehead which burned to the touch. “I hope I’m not coming down with something.”

“I hope you’re not too. I’m hardly Pomfrey.” Malfoy looked horrified at the thought of having to nurse Harry back to health and flicked his wand with a muttered _Accio_. “Try this. It’s a cold remedy – something Severus once showed me how to brew. It’s pretty effective.”

“Severus?” Harry grimaced as he looked at the potion, pretty sure if Snape had a hand in it the potion would taste vile. He popped the cork and drained the thick liquid, surprised to find it wasn’t too bad. “That’s alright.”

“Isn’t it?” Malfoy stood to leave and looked down at Harry. “I’m just three doors down, if you need anything.”

“Right.” Harry flushed at that and cursed his body for reacting to Malfoy like this, wondering how childish he must appear. Part of him wanted to ask Draco to stay but even Gryffindor bravery couldn’t push Harry to blurt that out.

“Sleep for as long as you need.” With a nod, Draco turned to leave.

Harry watched the empty space for a moment and then curled onto his side and closed his eyes, waiting for the dreams to come.

OoooOOoooO

“Have you ever had a partner?” They had finished playing chess and instead of going straight to bed, Harry had moved from the floor to the sofa, determined to find out a little more about Malfoy.

“One or two.” Draco glanced at Harry. “Why the sudden interest in my love life, Potter?”

“Just curious.” Harry shrugged and tried to sound nonchalant. “I don’t want my being here to stop you from doing what you would usually do.”

“You don’t?” Draco arched an eyebrow at Harry. “I can assure you, I have no qualms about living my life as I wish, with or without you here.”

“Good.” Harry wanted to ask more, but he felt he couldn’t with Malfoy being so bloody evasive.

“And you?” Malfoy looked at the fire instead of looking at Harry. “Last I was aware you were planning to marry into the Weasley family.”

“Hardly,” Harry snorted. “Ginny and I spent a bit of time together after the war but it wasn’t anything like Ron and Hermione had. It was more friends than anything else.”

“So there wasn’t anyone… _special_?” Draco glanced at Harry again.

“I thought there could have been, but I don’t think they felt the same.” Harry studiously avoided looking at Draco and focused on an invisible mark on his jeans, scraping the denim with his finger.

“Did you ever ask?”

“Absolutely not.” Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of confessing his feelings to Draco over one of their tentative conversations.

“You thought they wouldn’t be receptive?” Harry was suddenly rather aware of how close Draco was sitting and he could feel the warm heat from his body.

“I knew they wouldn’t be receptive.” He drew a deep breath and turned to face Draco, surprised to find his face close to Harry’s own. He could almost taste the chocolate on Draco’s lips, the sweet scent wafting over his face. “Was I wrong?”

Draco looked startled at the question, a strange expression crossing his features as he held Harry’s gaze. Instead of answering, he leant forward and Harry almost moaned as he felt Draco’s lips connect with his own.

The sensation of being kissed – firmly and with practiced ease – made Harry’s stomach heat as he pressed closer to Draco. He kissed Draco back, wrapping his arms around his neck and never wanting the kiss to end, because it felt so bloody good, not to mention he had no idea what he would say to Draco afterwards.

“Potter…” It turned out Harry didn’t have to say anything because Draco spoke first. He pulled back, but not away from Harry and kept his hand tangled into his hair. “This is not what I planned.”

“No, I can imagine that.” Harry was tempted to roll his eyes at Draco’s statement but resisted, partly because he wanted to kiss him again.

“I’m going to bed.” Malfoy seemed to shake himself as he met Harry’s eyes and with a swift movement, he was gone.

OoooOOoooO

“You said you were three doors down. If I ever needed anything.” Harry stood in the doorway to Draco’s room, his heart racing as he looked inside. Malfoy was sitting up in bed, a book open on his lap which he didn’t appear to be reading.

“I meant you could come and see me if you had any more dreams or if you weren’t feeling well.” Draco glared at Harry. “As you are well aware, Potter.”

“I know,” Harry shrugged and gave Draco a grin. “But you didn’t specify, so here I am. Besides, I can’t sleep.”

“For the love of Merlin.” Draco raked a hand through his hair and narrowed his eyes at Harry before putting his book to one side. “You might as well come in then as you’re here.”

“Thanks.” Harry moved to the bed but once he was there he wasn’t quite sure what to do. It hardly seemed right to curl up on the bed next to Draco, and he found himself shuffling somewhat awkwardly in place.

“Not so bold after all?” Malfoy smirked at Harry and then sighed, patting the bed. “You might as well sit. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Why not?” Harry kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed, looking at Draco with a glare.

“Because it’s a horrible idea.”

“Right.” Harry looked down at his hands with a frown. It was a bit distracting being this close to Draco on a bed of all things, able to feel the heat from his body. “Because you’re not interested?”

“Idiot.” Malfoy snorted and Harry felt a hand tangle in his hair. “I’m interested.”

“Well then?” Harry felt a smile tug at his lips when Malfoy said that and he turned to look at him. “I reckon you should kiss me again in that case.”

“Why do you look at me like that?” Malfoy’s eyes darkened and his voice was rough as he watched Harry.

“Like what?” Harry furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Never mind.” Malfoy shook his head and then leaned in to Harry again. 

This time the kiss was firm and demanding, and Harry found himself pressed back onto the bed. They kissed until Harry’s lips felt numb and he felt Draco move over him, pushing his hands under Harry’s t-shirt as the kisses became more frantic and urgent.

“Malfoy…fuck.” Harry arched into Malfoy’s touch, letting him pull off his t-shirt. He stilled when he felt Draco’s hand on the buckle of his belt and Draco brushed his lips to Harry’s ear, obviously noticing the reaction.

“Too much?”

“No. Not too much.” Harry felt himself tremble a little and Draco nipped his ear with a rough laugh.

“ _Gryffindor_. We’ll take it slow.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” Harry tipped his chin at Draco, giving him what he hoped was a defiant look, despite the fact he could feel Draco hard against his thigh and he was sure his face must betray something of his nerves.

“So eager, Potter.” With a smirk against Harry’s lips, Malfoy tugged open his trousers. He moved off Harry so he could pull them off completely, along with Harry’s pants and socks.

“Why am I the only one that’s naked?” Harry gave Draco a half-hearted glare which probably didn’t look terribly threatening, given that he could feel himself blushing a hot red.

“Because I’m Slytherin like that.” Malfoy gave Harry a genuine smile this time and moved down his body. He looked up at Harry and met his eyes before he circled his tongue around the tip of Harry’s cock.

“ _Fuck_ \- nothing…nothing wrong with Slytherin.” Harry bit his bottom lip and watched in fascination as Draco flicked his tongue over Harry’s cock again, before licking his lips.

“Don’t hold back – don’t hold anything back.”

“I won’t…what do you mean?”

But instead of responding, Draco gave Harry another wicked smile and swallowed his cock down to the root. 

Harry cried out, unable to stop himself at the pleasure which coursed through his body as Draco worked his tongue over the underside of Harry’s cock. Harry was quite sure he had never felt anything this good, the warm heat of Draco’s mouth making heat coil in his stomach as he tangled his hands in Draco’s hair. He wanted to buck up hard into Draco’s mouth which felt so damn _perfect_ , but he somehow felt that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

He dropped his head back onto the bed while Draco worked over his cock. He felt Malfoy fumble with something and then he groaned desperately as a slick finger slipped between his cheeks and rubbed against his hole. Draco had barely pressed his finger inside Harry and crooked it, before Harry came hard in Malfoy’s mouth, letting out a ragged groan.

“ _Harry_.” Draco moved up Harry’s body and kissed him again.

“Bloody hell.” When Draco pulled back, Harry ran his hands down Draco’s chest and looked at him nervously. “Can I have a go?”

“If you like.” Draco turned onto his back and reached for Harry. When Harry settled over him he gently pressed Harry’s head down and tangled his hand in his hair. “Go on, then. I’ll tell you what to do.”

With a low groan at the thought of getting his hands on Draco, Harry moved down Draco’s body eagerly.

Outside, the wind stilled and the pale moonlight cast its light into the darkened room.

OoooOOoooO

Spring turned to summer and Harry had found his own routine with Draco, as they took their time with one another, exploring each other slowly. Harry didn’t sleep in his own room again after that first night and Malfoy had taken to coming to bed at the same time, although Harry was still convinced that Draco never really slept. When Harry had nightmares which had become more frequent over time, Draco was always alert and ready to hold him close and soothe him to sleep with hushed words and a gentle touch.

“What do you think we would be doing if I was back where I’m supposed to be, right now?” Harry lay on his back in the garden, watching the sky. He could feel the heat of Draco beside him and their hands were twined together as the balmy air of the summer evening moved over them both. The trees whispered and the sky shone with stars. Harry was quite sure he would never find a moment as perfect as this again, when his head didn’t ache and everything was quiet and still.

“I would be avoiding you and trying to sell the Manor.” Draco turned his head to look at Harry. “You would have been doing something irritating, no doubt.”

“You think?” Harry laughed and leaned a little closer to Draco. “Do you think it would have worked between us back then?”

Draco turned to look back at the sky and squeezed Harry’s hand tightly as if he didn’t want to let him go. “I’m not sure. I’ve had ten years to grow up since then. I’m not sure I would have been terribly kind to you in those days.”

“Oh.” Harry felt lost at the thought of Draco dismissing him and looked back at the stars. “Do I have to go back?” All he had thought about for months was how to get back so that his friends wouldn’t have to grieve for him. He could see now, that everyone had continued living and that they were happy and he had started to wonder if he couldn’t just stay and be happy here too.

“What sort of life would you have, trapped in this place and only able to see the sky from the confines of this garden?” Draco’s voice had lost its smoothness and it sounded rough around the edges.

“Maybe this is all the sky I want to see. There are stars at night which is all I need. I don’t imagine it would look so different from anywhere else.”

“Are you prepared to never find out?”

“It sounds like you think I should go back.”

Draco shifted and turned, so Harry could only see his face instead of the night sky. “You’re a prat.”

“You don’t want me to go back?” Harry held his breath but Draco didn’t reply. Instead his face got the strange look Harry sometimes noticed and he leaned down to kiss Harry.

For Harry that was answer enough, for now.

OoooOOoooO

“What’s this?” Harry looked at the box which had been left out in the living room, wrapped in expensive silver paper and a green ribbon. He had learned from his previous mistake about opening gifts which purported to be from Draco without checking with him first. “It is actually from you, isn’t it?” He frowned at the parcel for a moment and Draco laughed.

“Yes, it’s from me. I thought it was your birthday?”

“It is.” Harry drew a breath and looked at Draco, his heart filling with happiness. “How the hell did you know that?”

“Weasel might have mentioned something. There are more presents in the kitchen if you want them. I just wanted you to have this first.”

Harry detected the light flush on Draco’s cheeks and grinned at him. “Why? What’s so special about this one?”

“Just open it, Potter,” Draco snapped.

“Alright.” Holding his hands up in a gesture of defence, Harry eagerly tore into the parcel. He was reminded of his excitement when he had opened his brown paper parcel to see the locket which he had believed to be from Draco and he felt a strange sense of sadness. 

He carefully opened the box which was revealed when he had removed the outer wrapping. Harry reached carefully inside to take out what appeared to be a pocket watch. It was highly polished silver and marked with the intricate swirls of careful craftsmanship. Feeling his hands tremble a little, Harry opened up the watch. The silver hands were set to the correct time and he could hear the gentle _tick tocking_ of the timepiece as he held it to his ear. He looked at the face of the watch properly and felt his heart beat more rapidly. The background was a deep indigo and glittered with stars, including those few which seemed to shine more brightly than the others. 

“It’s _Canis Major_ \- the brighter stars, I mean. I don’t know if you are familiar with the constellation but within it is the brightest star in the night sky. The Dog Star.”

“ _Sirius_.” Harry looked at the watch again, snapping it shut and then opening it again, fascinated by the intricate beauty of the piece.

“I felt it was only fitting. It came into my possession some time ago and it has been buried in a drawer. When I saw the locket, it reminded me of the pocket watch. I believe it belonged to Black at one point in his life, although the fact that I have it implies he must not have had use for it when he left Grimmauld Place. Fortunate, really, as I doubt he would have been allowed to keep something like that in Azkaban and it is clearly an expensive piece.”

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat and he didn’t know how to respond to Draco. He continued to turn it over in his hands, taking in every detail.

“If you don’t like it, you might as well say so,” Malfoy snapped.

“Do you really think I don’t _like_ it?” Harry looked at Draco, clearing his throat as he heard the husky note to his own voice.

“Good. Happy birthday, Potter.” Malfoy seemed mollified by Harry’s response, the same pink tinge colouring his cheeks.

“I love you. I mean, I’m in love with you.” Harry stumbled over his words and they were out in the quiet room between them both before he could claw them back. 

The only sound in the silence was their breathing and the beautiful pocket watch _ticking_ past the minutes.

“I don’t believe you.” Draco’s voice was tight and his face smooth but Harry could detect just the faintest hint of uncertainty.

“I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say when somebody puts their heart on the line.” Harry forced himself to continue to look at Draco, despite the fact it almost hurt to do so, the dull ache returning to his head. “I suppose you want me to take it back? Or maybe you just think I’m too young to have a clue about anything like this. But I do, you know. I thought I should tell you.”

“Why do you always do this?” There was a definite tremble in Draco’s voice this time and Harry watched him, confused.

“Do what? I don’t think I’ve ever done _this_ before.”

“Why do you always _push_ me? When you came to Azkaban, then to the Manor – I couldn’t get the thought of you out of my mind. You were always _there_ even when I asked you not to be. Then…” Draco trailed off and grimaced.

“Then?” 

Malfoy looked up and met Harry’s gaze again. “Then one day you were gone. But I still couldn’t forget you. It took me nearly ten years to realise _why_ and when I did and I had made peace with it, you turn up again – with your ridiculous, stupid, noble bloody heart, playing chess with all the skill of a drunken crup and I’m back where I started. It brought back every fucking miserable minute of the past that I have tried so damn hard to forget. I meant it when I said I hated you that day, Potter. I need you to know that I _meant_ it.”

“Then what are we doing?” Harry felt his heart sink and he had to struggle to just keep breathing, because his head hurt so much and Draco’s words left him feeling utterly alone. “Why did you give me this? I don’t understand why you would let me sleep next to you and hold me after I’ve had a bad dream if it all means nothing to you.”

“Because maybe I don’t hate you at all – maybe I never did, even if I believed it once.” Draco’s voice was a hushed whisper and Harry moved to him, putting the watch carefully in his pocket.

“Why won’t you let me say it, if it’s what I feel?” Harry felt Draco’s arms wrap around him and his cheek rested on top of Harry’s head as he held him close.

“Because I’m not ready for you to love me, Potter. Idiot.”

“Not because you don’t love me back?” Harry lifted his head to look at Draco, feeling a broad grin spread across his face despite the pounding in his head.

“Always _pushing_.” With a roll of his eyes, Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s and cupped his cheek with his hand. Harry leaned into the touch and wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck, kissing him back and hearing the sound of the pocket watch _ticking_ softly in his pocket.

When Draco kissed him he usually felt a warm rush of pleasure and would find himself pressing closer for more as their kiss would become two and then three and they would move to the floor or the sofa or sometimes make their way upstairs where they could lose themselves in one another properly.

Today however, Harry’s head was too sore to feel the same pleasure and even Draco’s kisses didn’t seem able to coax him out of it. With a frown, Draco pulled back and looked carefully at Harry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Harry didn’t want to spoil the day and he shook his head. 

“Potter.” Malfoy’s voice dipped into a growl and Harry looked up to see Draco’s eyes full of concern. As he did so he felt an overwhelming nausea and a flash of hot pain seared through his head. He stumbled and Draco held him upright, his concern turning to a look of fear. “Potter!”

“I don’t…my head…” Harry managed to speak one final time before everything went black and the last thing he heard was the sound of Draco shouting his name.

When the fog cleared all he could see was a tree and an indigo sky without any stars.

OoooOOoooO

“You understand what’s happening, I assume?” Draco and Ron exchanged glances; Malfoy’s face twisted with fury as he snapped out his words. “He’s dying. Unless we can find a way to get him back to _his_ time, there will be nothing we can do.”

“Bill.” Ron looked at Harry, worried, and then spoke more clearly. “My brother. He’s a curse breaker.” 

“Why didn’t you bloody well say so?” Draco glared at Ron. “Have you told him about any of this?” 

“I told him what had happened, of course. I just didn’t think we needed to work on the curse yet, I wasn’t even sure Harry wanted us to. I thought we had time.” 

“Well we don’t have any fucking _time_.” 

Harry closed his eyes and the sound of Draco and Ron arguing faded into the distance. He saw flashes of things he remembered from a time long since passed. He watched himself through someone else’s eyes, seeing flashes of his time visiting Azkaban and the Draco he remembered from ten years ago, with haunted eyes and a pinched, wary look about him. 

After a while, the voices disappeared completely and it was then that the memories faded into nothing. 

Harry found himself in his pyjamas, in the middle of a large field with a huge oak tree whose boughs stretched out to cast long shadows over the grass. There was no sign of life in the immediate vicinity and the earth around the tree was blackened and charred and the sky deep indigo and starless. Only the pale moon cast any light and it gave a strange glow to the place, which was filled with long, eerie shadows, which seemed to move of their own accord. 

Harry walked towards the tree and saw what appeared to be empty space just before the trunk. Carefully he moved onto his hands and knees so he wouldn’t stumble at the edge. He inched closer and looked down, gripping tightly to the charred ground beneath his hands. His stomach turned as he looked into the darkness, which seemed to go all the way down, stretching into infinity. 

He had never realised there was a hole in the earth.

OoooOOoooO

Harry woke to the sound of muted voices. He felt a cool hand clutched in his own and reached out for Malfoy.

“Malfoy?” 

“I’m here.” Draco cleared his throat as Harry pressed close to the slim body next to his own. “As are a number of Weasleys.” 

“Right.” With a chuckle, Harry turned his head, not moving from Draco’s side, and saw Bill, Arthur and Ron all looking at him with concern. “Cheer up, it’s like somebody died in here.” 

“Harry.” Ron gave him a glare and then looked at Bill who was intent on reading something, holding a small vial of blood in his hand and frowning at it. “Anything?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” Bill frowned at the book and then looked at Harry. “It’s the Novikov Curse. A bloody nasty, Dark sort of thing.” He studied Harry carefully. “Have you been having dreams? About strange places?” 

“Yes.” Harry thought about the deep black hole in the centre of the earth and closed his eyes. “ _Yes._ ” 

“That’s it, alright.” Bill handed the book to Arthur who began to read, the colour leaving his face. 

“Are you going to let the rest of us in on your discoveries or not?” Draco’s voice was controlled but tight as he snapped at Bill. 

“Perhaps we should talk outside.” Ron nodded to Harry and then the door and Harry let out a frustrated sound. 

“Don’t – don’t talk about me behind my back. I deserve to know what’s happening.” 

“He’s right.” Bill shrugged and then began to talk. “The curse works through shifting someone through time. It’s the same sort of magic used in Time Turners, complex stuff and seriously dangerous if people mess with it. You know the rules about moving through time – never let yourself be seen, all of that sort of stuff.” 

“I remember.” Harry thought back to Hermione and her multiple classes and would have laughed if his head wasn’t splitting and his friends weren’t behaving as if there was no hope for him anymore. 

“It’s essentially all about ensuring a time paradox isn’t created,” Bill continued. “I don’t think Yaxley really cared where he put Harry, but I do believe he planned to put him in the past. I suspect he was trying to get him back to a point in time when Yaxley himself was at Grimmauld Place, which would have led to Harry’s capture and the war possibly ending differently. I reckon Yaxley failed; the magic was too complex and he didn't have the required precision. Instead the curse pushed Harry forward to the present – to our present. Yaxley didn’t much care by then because he’d got rid of Harry Potter, and as far as he was concerned he had achieved his goal. To bring back the Dark Lord at the same time would have been the icing on the cake. But now it means everything has backfired and it’s all affecting Harry – the curse went wrong, and Harry was never meant to be here like this. He is quite literally in the wrong place at the wrong time. Time will try to fix that and the pressure of it will kill him.” He winced and looked at Harry apologetically. “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Harry shook his head, his stomach turning a little. “It’s essentially what he said he was going to do in that letter. Make me suffer for a while, that’s all he really wanted.”

_Tick tock, Potter_

“So we get Harry back to where he’s supposed to be.” Malfoy spoke in a tight, furious voice. “We use a Time Turner or something.” 

“It won’t work.” Bill shook his head with a sigh. “Because that doesn’t reverse the curse and it will create exactly the sort of paradox that shouldn’t be possible. There will be two Harry’s in the same place, at the same time and either that would kill them both or create a risk that they'd kill each other. They only way to restore things to the way they should be, is to figure out how to reverse the curse.” 

“And how do we do that?” Arthur sat on the end of the bed and ran a hand through Harry’s hair, his voice choked. “I will not have another son die.” 

Harry felt his eyes sting at Arthur’s words and he closed his eyes because it wouldn’t help anyone if he started crying now. 

“Damned if I know,” Bill replied.

OoooOOoooO

“Will you tell me what happened in Azkaban?” Harry had curled up against Draco. They were both naked, their bodies pressed together under the quilts. The Weasleys had left hours ago after Harry had fallen into a fitful sleep. When he had woken, he had felt a little better, and he and Draco had slowly undressed one another, taking their time, kissing and stroking each other to a gentle completion.

They lay now, in the darkness of the room, wrapped together in a tangle of warm limbs.

“I’m not sure you want to know.” Draco grimaced and brushed his lips to Harry’s cheek. “Do we have to talk about this, Potter?”

“Not if you don’t want. But I would like to understand.” Harry tipped his head back to look at Draco who narrowed his eyes at Harry and then nodded. 

“Alright.” Malfoy brushed his hand through Harry’s hair. “But don’t look at me like that, I can’t stand it.”

_Sometimes I hate you, Potter. Sometimes I hate you so much I can hardly bear it._

Harry nodded, just once, and closed his eyes while Malfoy talked, listening to the sound of his heart beating.

“You already know my father’s death was not due to a medical condition. He was placed in solitary confinement for longer than any person should be made to sit in a cell with no light and barely any space to move. It drove him half mad, in there. When he wasn’t locked away out of sight they would beat him – and worse.”

“They beat you too?” Harry kept still as Malfoy’s hand worked through his hair again.

“They did, and it wasn’t all they did – but you have likely guessed their other methods.”

“Yes.” Harry nodded, because he had had suspected for some time that Draco had been abused in every possible way during his time at Azkaban.

“They singled me out for special treatment because I was Harry Potter’s _boyfriend_.” Draco spoke with a sneer in his tone and Harry froze in his arms, a lump rising in his throat.

“They did what?” His voice cracked as he remembered the way the guards had watched them so closely. Draco had asked him not to come and visit, yet Harry had blundered in regardless, with his stupid bloody chessboard and his naïve hope that he might be making things _better._ The thought was too much and he moved to the bathroom, dropping to his knees and retching into the toilet until there was nothing left in his stomach.

_“What the hell are you doing here? I told you not to come back.”_

His head span and his stomach cramped as he remembered Malfoy’s anger as Harry had returned to Azkaban, feeling as if he may as well have done those things to Malfoy himself, pushing and pushing until there was nothing left.

_Why do you always push me?_

“You’re an idiot, Potter.” Harry heard a whispered charm which made his body feel lighter and then Draco had scooped Harry up into his arms, taking him back to bed and placing him down as Harry shivered with the cold. “You’re not to get up without someone helping – you’re certainly not to make yourself violently ill. You need your strength. Fuck, _I_ need your strength.”

“So they targeted you for the worst of it? Because of me.” Harry couldn’t bear to look at Draco and turned onto his side. “No wonder you hated me.”

“I did. For a long time, I had moments – and these were just moments – of hating you so much it physically hurt me.” Draco’s voice sounded cool, but then his lips pressed against Harry’s ear and his warm breath tickled Harry’s neck. “It took me a long time to realise you were the only thing that kept me alive in that place. None of the Death Eaters that went in were ever going to be allowed out – apart from me. Whatever they thought, whether they really thought we _did_ fuck each other, or if they just used it to make me react, it was the one thing that kept me alive.”

“And that’s why you can forgive me?” Harry turned to face Draco and looked up at him, taking in every inch of his face as Draco gave him a slow, sad smile in return.

“And that’s why there’s nothing to forgive.”

OoooOOoooO

The days passed in a blur after that night, merging into one long period of pain and feverish dreams.

Harry returned to the spot he had seen on the first night of his dreams a number of times. Each time he returned he felt more of the place – the rough wood of the large oak in the centre of the field, the chill of the wind and the sky without any stars. 

There were sounds now too, whispers and whimpers and the sound of a man sobbing, which Harry thought he had heard somewhere before.

“Where am I?” Harry looked around him and the whispers answered back, lilting with laughter.

“ _Nowhere._ ”

OoooOOoooO

Harry could hear sounds around him, hushed voices and muttered words.

“We’re losing him – hurry the fuck up – he’s freezing.”

“Shut it, Malfoy – we’re going as fast as we can, make sure he’s kept warm.”

Harry felt cool hands and the gentle pressure of people lifting him. He tried to respond, but his lips couldn’t quite move and his limbs felt heavy and sluggish. Soft cashmere was wrapped gently around his neck and his body bundled into blankets. Everything around him felt warm and carried the familiar scent of Draco. The pain in his head was more intense now, and he couldn’t seem to focus on what people were saying. 

He could hear muttered spells and felt the thrum of magic surround him. He opened his eyes, finally able to pry his lids apart, using all of his strength. He found Draco looking at him, his eyes full of pain, and Harry looked back until it became too much to bear.

The last thing he heard was Hermione’s voice. “It’s working – Bill, I think it’s working.”

The last thing he felt was the gentle pressure of lips against his own, moving in what he wanted to believe was an _I love you_ but which could just have been a _goodbye_.

OoooOOoooO

Harry opened his eyes.

The floor of Grimmauld Place was covered with dust and the cobwebs clung to the ceiling as they had before Harry left. He saw the mug of tea he had made before he'd received the parcel on the coffee table where he had left it. Tendrils of steam curled around the light flecks of dust in the air. 

Everything was as it should be.

And he could remember – every detail, every touch and whispered sigh. He could remember _everything_ , and from his pocket he could hear the rhythmic sound of a clock ticking.

_Tick tock, Potter_

OoooOOoooO

Harry had taken the parcel, unopened, to Ron and Hermione who had subsequently contacted the Ministry. The Aurors had analysed the parcel and found the traces of Dark magic, then destroyed it immediately. They had gone to the Knockturn Tavern to look for Yaxley but he was nowhere to be seen. Presumably, because Harry was still very much alive, he had decided there was nothing to celebrate.

Harry didn’t tell Ron and Hermione about Draco, or what had happened between them, although he could tell from the way that Hermione and Ron looked at one another that they suspected there was something which Harry wasn’t disclosing. 

He knew that he had to speak to Draco first. He spent his evenings looking at the empty side of his bed and missing the warmth of another body. Finally, when he had worked up the courage to pay Malfoy a visit, Harry stepped into the Floo and called out for Malfoy Manor. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Potter?” Draco’s face was pinched and angry and Harry felt his stomach turn, feeling nauseous.

“Can we talk?”

“I’m busy.” Draco gestured to the papers, which were spread out around him. “I have father’s estate to administer.” His head bowed and strands of blond hair fell over his face. Harry longed to kneel in front of him and push his hair back from his forehead; His hands balled into fists to stop himself from making any foolish moves.

“It’s important.”

“As is this.” Draco refused to look up and continued to glare at the papers, his hand clenched tightly around his quill.

“Please – just give me half an hour of your time. I won’t disturb you again, not if you don’t want,” Harry persisted.

“Very well.” Draco bundled the papers into one messy pile and placed them to one side, sitting back at his desk and watching Harry warily.

“How are you?” Harry sat opposite Draco and mentally kicked himself for the rubbish introduction. He found that now he was face to face with Draco, all he could think about was Draco’s hands running along his sides and the words Draco would whisper in his ear when the dusky afternoon became night. 

He remembered Draco pressed over him, preparing him roughly and fucking him until they were both sated.

He remembered afterwards, when Draco had kept him close and held him until he fell asleep.

He wanted to bundle himself into Draco’s arms and breathe in his cologne, curling up next to him. He itched to touch him and wanted him with everything he had.

“Just dandy.” Draco scowled and raked a hand through his hair, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

“You heard about the stuff that happened with Yaxley?”

“Vaguely.” Draco continued to look hesitant. “What does that have to do with me?”

“The details haven’t been released into the public domain – I would prefer to keep it that way.” Harry took Draco’s snort as agreement not to talk to anyone else about the matter and continued. “It’s going to sound barmy but the curse he planned to use was successful at first. The Novikov Curse, it’s called.”

“Never heard of it. More to the point, if Yaxley was successful I’m not sure why you’re still alive, let alone barging into my home as if nothing happened.”

“I’ve got the details.” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out some crumpled paper, which he had used to carefully copy out the details of the curse. He pushed it to Malfoy and watched him read, hearing the soft ticking of the watch in the pocket and the rustle of robes as Draco shifted in his seat, looking aggravated.

“Time travel – nasty bloody thing, typical Yaxley modus operandi. Where did you end up?”

“Ten years from now. In Grimmauld Place.”

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.” Draco crumpled up the paper and threw it into the bin by his desk. It bounced off the rim and fell to the floor, unfurling slightly.

“You were living there – in Grimmauld Place, I mean.”

“Why the hell would I be doing that?” Malfoy looked startled and then frowned at Harry after a moment. “Pureblood magic – if you died, which I assume is what everybody thought had happened – it would pass to me as my mother is dead.”

“Exactly.” Harry nodded and tried to ignore the fact he wanted to reach for Draco when he heard his voice catch as he mentioned his mother. “I was bound to the place, I suppose. We spent a lot of time together.”

“We did?” Malfoy continued to look at Harry with distrust and then shook his head firmly. “Get to the point.”

“We were…involved.” Harry blurted out the words as quickly as he could, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Involved?” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed again. “ _How_ involved?”

_“Relax, Harry. Breathe. Fuck, you feel good around me. So bloody good.”_

“You know what I mean.” Harry could feel his cheeks were still a hot red and it took all of his strength not to look away when he saw the look of horror on Malfoy’s face.

“Am I supposed to believe this? I don’t know what sick little fantasies you have about me, Potter, but you can piss off. You can bloody well _piss off_.” Malfoy snapped out the words, his face pinched as he clutched his wand tightly in his hand.

“I don’t mean…I’m not asking for anything from you and for fucks sake, I don’t _fantasise_ about you.” Harry raised his voice in frustration. He hated the fact that Malfoy’s words made him feel like he had done something wrong – as if he was some kind of pervert – when all he wanted was to tell Malfoy the truth. 

“Prove it.” Draco glared at Harry.

“You gave me this.” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the beautiful pocket watch he had kept on his person every day since his return. “For my birthday.”

Malfoy looked startled and then rummaged in his drawer. Eventually he pulled out another pocket watch. It was tarnished and clearly broken, the chain damaged and worn. “I don’t know where you got that but there could have been two. I still have this, after all.”

Harry picked up the other watch and turned it over in his hands. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he realised the effort Draco must have gone to in order to restore the watch to its former glory before giving it to Harry.

“Veritaserum.” 

“Pardon?” Draco looked up from the two watches which sat side by side on his desk.

“I’ll take Veritaserum.”

Malfoy looked at Harry for a moment and then nodded. He stood, walking to his cabinet and pulled out a small vial. Harry supposed he shouldn’t be surprised Malfoy actually _had_ Veritaserum. He remembered the sweet tasting potion Draco had given him for his headache and the mention of Severus.

“Veritaserum isn’t infallible, Potter. I know that better than anyone. This doesn’t mean I will believe whatever you say.” Malfoy handed the colourless liquid to Harry. “Three drops. No more. It will make you sick.” 

“I know.” Harry took a couple of drops of the potion and sat back and waited for Draco to ask his questions.

“Did Yaxleys curse work at first?” 

“Yes.” Harry answered easily and kept his eyes trained on Draco.

“Was I living at Grimmauld Place?”

“Yes. Because I didn’t leave a will and the property couldn’t go intestate because of the magic on the place. It passed to you.” Harry grimaced. “You had expensive furniture. Lots of it.”

“Of course I did,” Malfoy sniffed. He knitted his eyebrows together again, focusing on the task at hand once more, apparently struggling to craft his question. “Did you have a relationship with the person who lived at Grimmauld Place?”

“With _you_?” Harry nodded. “Yes.”

Malfoy’s hands trembled just a little and he gripped them hard onto the table, his knuckles turning white with the force of it. “Did you have _sex_ with him?”

“Yes.” Harry felt another rush of heat to his cheeks and he noticed Malfoy’s face flicker with horror, revulsion and something else which Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Get out, Potter.”

_“I had moments – and these were just moments – of hating you so much it physically hurt me.”_

Harry wanted to protest. It wasn’t in his nature to sit back and let Malfoy order him around and not to fight for something he desperately wanted, but Draco’s words on Harry’s birthday kept ringing in his head. He thought about the way Draco looked then and the way he looked now, still haunted by his memories of Azkaban. 

_“Why do you always push me?”_

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”

With one last look at Draco, Harry left the Manor behind, stepping into the Floo and going back to the darkness of Grimmauld Place.

OoooOOoooO

“Good to see you again, mate.” Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder as he stepped through the Floo, with Hermione close behind.

“Evening, Harry.” Hermione kissed Harry quickly on the cheek and then sniffed in the air. “Something smells fantastic.”

“I’ve been cooking.” Harry grinned at them both and then pulled a face. “I’m turning into a bloody house-elf.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Ron grinned back and nodded in Hermione’s direction, rolling his eyes affectionately.

“It’s not much – just a stew and some mashed potato, but I think I’m doing alright at this cooking lark.”

“Still doing it the Muggle way?” Ron laughed and Harry nodded.

“When I can. Stuff like electric whisks don’t work in this place though – too much magic. I use Muggle things where I can and then do the rest with magic. It’s actually harder though, a bit like potions. I don’t know how your mum does it.”

“She’s amazing.” Ron looked proud at the mention of his mum’s cooking. “Hermione’s not much of a fan of all of her meals, though.”

“One meal, Ron. One meal I didn’t like and you told your _mother_.” Hermione groaned and smiled at Harry. “I’ll never get over the embarrassment.”

“I’m sure you won’t – I doubt Molly appreciated that.” Harry laughed and shook his head at the thought. “You’re braver than I am.”

“We wanted to talk to you about something.” Hermione looked at Ron briefly and Harry steadied himself for the questions he knew were inevitable ever since he had clammed up about the effects of the Novikov Curse.

“You know I have to be careful, Bill said as much.” Harry remembered sitting down with Bill and talking about the curse. He had explained about Ron and Hermione and their family, omitting mention of Draco and Bill had held up his hand to shush Harry.

_“It’s not a good idea to tell people about their futures when it comes to time travel. It can change the way they do things in the present and who knows how that might turn out. Besides, there’s no guarantee at all that things will turn out the way you saw. The people you knew had grown up in a world where Harry Potter died ten years prior. The smallest shift in circumstance, the tiniest of changes, could all impact the future. This doesn’t seem like a small change to me.”_

Harry had listened to Bill carefully and had agreed not to say too much. He had simply told Ron and Hermione they were happy and Ron in particular seemed frustrated about not knowing more.

“We want to know what’s going on with Malfoy.” Ron got straight to the point and flopped down onto the sofa, looking up at Harry.

“Absolutely nothing.” Harry pulled a face because it was true, at least.

“But something did. When the curse worked and you went forward in time. Something happened then?” Hermione pushed more than Ron did and Harry found he couldn’t lie to them both after all of this time.

“Yeah. Something happened.”

“Does he know?” Ron frowned as he spoke, studying Harry carefully. Harry was grateful that he didn’t push for more detail.

“I told him but I don’t think he believes me.” 

_“Get out, Potter.”_

Harry clutched the watch in his pocket and listened to the _ticking_ which settled him to sleep on those nights when he had bad dreams of sobbing and lonely trees beneath a starless sky. He remembered the way Draco had carefully wrapped him in blankets just before the curse had been reversed and touched his lips briefly as he remembered the final, warm pressure of Malfoy’s lips against his own. 

“You can see why it might be difficult?” Hermione’s tone was calm but Harry couldn’t respond other than by nodding his agreement.

“But it’s not just that, is it?” Ron looked serious. “There’s more. I reckon you liked Malfoy before Yaxley’s curse took effect.”

“Perhaps,” Harry shrugged and then folded under the scrutiny of the watchful eyes of his friends. “If you already know so much then why the bloody hell are you asking?”

“Because we’re worried about you.” Hermione reached out and took Harry’s hand. “Because we want you to be happy.”

“I will be.” With false cheer, Harry pulled himself up to his full height and tilted his chin a little. “Now let’s eat – I’m starving.”

“Alright, mate.” Ron glanced briefly at Hermione and shrugged.

Drawing a breath, Harry moved to the kitchen where he put the finishing touches to their supper. He dished up the food and put the piping hot plates onto the table in the dining room. He returned to the living room, where Ron stood by the fireplace, looking at something curiously.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Brilliant.” Ron turned to Harry, a broad smile on his face and pointed at a small parcel on the hearth. “What’s this? Looks like it’s from a poncy Slytherin if you ask me.”

The ticking in Harry’s pocket sounded louder in the room as he looked at the package. It was small and square, covered with silver wrapping paper and green ribbons. It looked expensive and well-wrapped. 

In a breath, Harry was taken back to his birthday, the parcel left out for him by Draco and what had happened shortly after Harry had opened the gift.

_Yaxley_

Because Harry had lived, they had never caught Yaxley who would still be doing everything in his power to get rid of Harry. Ron couldn’t realise that this parcel was just where Harry had found the previous one.

A searing pain made him clutch his forehead and he gasped out as he moved to Ron as quickly as he could manage. 

“Don’t. Don’t touch it.”

“Maybe the stars are looking down on you after all, mate?” With a grin, Ron picked up the parcel and with a flash of green, everything went black.

The last thing Harry remembered was Hermione screaming Ron’s name, the wretched sobbing he sometimes heard in his dreams and the _ticking_ of the watch in his pocket.

_Tick tock, Potter._

OoooOOoooO

The tree stood tall in the darkness of the empty field.

The moon cast its eerie light and Harry crouched over the edge of the gaping black hole at the foot of the tree. If he tipped himself forwards, just a little, he would fall through the world. 

He would have walked willingly over the edge if he knew it would bring Ron back.

Now, when the earth shivered beneath his feet, he could feel Ron somewhere nearby. He could hear his voice and the _scratch_ of hands beneath his feet as if someone was buried beneath the ground, trying to claw their way to the surface.

He dug into the earth with his bare hands, dampening the ground with his tears. He pulled back clumps of charred grass but there was nothing beneath the surface, only piles of sodden earth and eventually, the blood from his hands which mingled with the rain which had started to fall.

Harry looked up at the dark sky without any stars and clutched his arms around himself. At times like this Malfoy would reach for him and shake him from the darkness, bringing him back into a warm circle of arms and a soft touch, peppering the night with whispered words.

Now there was nothing.

Instead, Harry woke with a start and blinked as he looked around his room. There was no tree, no strange moon and no earth or blood on his hands – there was only the _tick tock_ of a pocket watch and the sound of his own breathing.

Harry reached for the photo on his sheets. He looked at Ron’s face which smiled and waved at him from the grainy picture. Harry supposed he must have fallen asleep with it clutched in his hands, long after Hermione had told him that Ron wasn’t coming back. It had been a different sort of curse this time and not the sort anyone could recover from.

Somewhere in the distance, if he strained to hear it, Harry could hear the sounds of sobbing from deep within the house. 

It was a sound Harry had heard in his dreams many times before and this time, wide awake and looking at the picture of his best friend, Harry wept too.

OoooOOoooO

Two months later, Harry found himself on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor. With a sigh, he raised his hand to knock on the door.

“You look different.” Malfoy opened the door after a time and flicked his eyes over Harry before meeting his gaze.

“Ron’s dead. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same after that.” Harry tugged at the collar of his jacket which felt like it was choking him as he tried to steady his breathing. He repeated what Draco had said to him when he had first visited Harry at Grimmauld Place, what seemed like years ago. “I was holed up in Grimmauld Place and I had to get some air –there’s too much Dark stuff in that house. I went for a walk and ended up here. Apparently I have nowhere else to go.”

“I suppose you might as well come in.” Malfoy stepped to one side and Harry clutched his hand into a fist in his pocket as the scent of Draco’s cologne brought back a host of unbidden memories.

“I’m sorry to intrude.” Harry felt rather awkward when they were both standing uncomfortably in the vast drawing room. He looked around and saw the painting of Lucius and Narcissa, which had been transferred to Grimmauld Place in that other lost reality. They watched him in silence, tall and proud, overseeing the conversation.

“Yes, well.” Malfoy grimaced and then poured a Firewhisky. He gave Harry a glass of his own, then took a sip. He then tipped his glass to Harry, his face serious. “To Weasley.”

“To Ron.” Harry’s voice caught on Ron’s name and he stumbled over his words, sipping his whisky quickly to try to steady his nerves.

“You’re wearing the pocket watch, I see.” Malfoy looked at the chain settled just over Harry’s pocket, his gaze lingering on it for a moment.

“Sorry, yes. Do you mind?”

“Why would I mind?” Draco’s face was smooth without a flicker of emotion behind it, and Harry felt his heart sink.

“May I?” Harry gestured to the sofa and when Draco gave him a curt nod he moved to sit down. The sofa was plush, comfortable leather, and Harry was reminded of the time he had spent with Draco at Grimmauld Place, holding one another as they watched the sun dip behind the trees, bathing the leaves with its fire.

“Shouldn’t you be with Granger?” Draco sat next to Harry rather primly, perched on the edge of the sofa as if he didn’t want to get too close. 

“I’m going round later. I’m bringing some supper for them all. Molly hasn’t been up to cooking.”

“I see.” Draco nodded and looked at Harry. “What can I do for you?”

Harry wondered if Draco was trying to be formal on purpose – perhaps it was easier for him to pretend this was all just a dream. He remembered what Draco had told him one night about the time it had taken him to recover from his experiences in Azkaban and wondered if Draco still felt like he hated Harry now, even after everything.

“I wanted to talk to you again – about what happened.” Harry looked down at his lap and shrugged. “I don’t expect anything from you, I just want you to believe me.”

“Stop it, Potter.” Malfoy’s face was tight and pinched. Harry felt his heart ache with the wretched sense of hopelessness. 

“It’s true,” Harry murmured. He felt small and broken and twisted his hands in his lap as he listened to Draco breathe. He remembered how Draco’s breath would hitch and quicken when he was excited, and gritted his teeth against his own memories, forcing them to the recesses of his mind.

“Don’t.” Harry felt Draco shift on the sofa and he closed his eyes as he felt Draco lift his hand to Harry before he dropped it uselessly back to his side. Malfoy was close enough that Harry could smell his cologne, which was still just the same and feel the heat from the slim lines of Malfoy’s body, largely unchanged. To Harry, he was bloody perfect. 

“Sorry,” Harry’s voice came out in a gulp but Draco didn’t reply. 

"I'm only eighteen, Potter." Draco's voice was small and cracked as he spoke. “Even if I do believe you, it doesn’t matter - you fell in love with somebody who doesn’t exist.”

"He does exist…he will." Harry drew a deep breath and stayed very still, wishing Draco would reach for him. He thought about Ron and Hermione and the family they would never have together and he remembered Draco - _his_ Draco – the one who had kept Harry warm when everything felt cold.

“He told you what happened? In Azkaban.” Draco choked out the words and Harry nodded.

“He told me everything - _you_ told me everything. Or I believe you did.”

“Then you know why I’m not ready for any of this.” Draco wrapped his arms around himself. “I’m not ready for you.”

“I know.” In his heart, Harry knew the truth of it and he knew he couldn’t push. Draco didn’t remember there being anything more between the two of them than hatred, anger and the beginnings of a tentative truce over a few games of chess. The idea that a few memories of Harry’s would be enough to make Draco fall in love with him was a futile dream. 

“I’m going away for a while,” Draco said, and Harry tried to keep a tight hold on reality as if somehow it might slip away from him in an instant.

“Where?”

“Anywhere in the world but here,” Draco muttered.

Harry nodded in response, unable to speak. 

They sat together for a long time and then, because there was nothing more to be said, Harry stood and left the warm comfort of the sofa. His limbs felt heavy and his body moved sluggishly towards the Floo as if he was in some sort of dream. He stopped when he reached it and gripped the fireplace to steady himself so he wouldn’t fall to the floor. Everything hurt. 

“Harry?”

Harry turned, a spark of hope flickering within him and he met Draco’s cool gaze head on.

“Yes?”

“Was he a good man?” Draco’s voice was small and uncertain, the hard edge to it smoothed out for once.

Harry stepped into the Floo and grabbed the Floo powder into his fist, tight enough to leave marks on his palm. He looked into Draco’s eyes and nodded.

“Yes, he was a good man, and I loved him with every bone in my body. He never said it back, but I reckon in his own way he loved me too.”

Harry threw down the powder and he thought Draco might have called out, but the Floo carried him back to Grimmauld Place before he could catch the words. He stumbled from the Floo and curled up on the sofa, which was musty and worn.

_“I’ve made it so you won’t fit anywhere anymore.”_

The night wrapped Harry in its arms and lulled him into a fitful sleep of scorched earth, a starless sky and a hole in the world.

_~Fin~_   


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Chess Player](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417996) by [Vaysh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaysh/pseuds/Vaysh)




End file.
